


Parasite

by regularlordreckoner



Category: Inception (2010), Mysterious Skin (2005)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8298908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regularlordreckoner/pseuds/regularlordreckoner
Summary: Cobb believes he's found a loophole to Limbo; a way out. The only problem is, he hasn't tested it out yet. Enter Eames. It's his assignment to recruit an unsuspecting Arthur into Limbo using his most painful and private memories in order to succeed in performing inception. What Cobb and Eames fail to realize, however, is that the most resilient parasite isn't any kind of intestinal worm, but rather an idea. The idea that Arthur's world isn't real and that in order to get back, he needs to kill himself. This being a horribly complicated endeavor of course means it's the most perfectly inconvenient time to realize that they're in love. Aka the one where Arthur and Eames are Mal and Cobb.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is actually an old story that got posted on FF.net about a hundred some odd years ago. I've pulled it back out of the vault because I still feel like it has some kind of potential. I've tried to clean it up just a little, but I realized fixing it up the way I want to deep down would likely require an entire re-write and I'm not quite that dedicated so I decided instead to just put it up here and see what happens. Not my best work, by far, but I'm still vaguely proud of it. 
> 
> This story does deal with some tough subject matter, but I've also tried to be considerate and include warnings before certain events at the beginning of each chapter, so take heed of those before proceeding. Also, this is a bit of a crossover between Inception and Mysterious Skin, so if you know anything at all about that you'll have a good idea what's in store. If you don't, you should still be able to understand although again, this is tough stuff so please take the warnings into account. 
> 
> With that I'll leave you to it. Enjoy???

“I have an idea,” Cobb announced. 

“Always a dangerous undertaking,” Eames snorted. Cobb shot him a stern look, but continued. 

“We’re getting into bigger projects now. I want as little room for error as possible. You know what the biggest problem we face is.” 

Eames sighed, “Limbo.” 

“Exactly. And I think I may have a way to get around, or rather, out of it,” Cobb said. 

“And how do you presume we do that?” Eames asked. Despite his misgivings about what idea Cobb had, his curiosity was now peaked.

“Inception,” Cobb said simply, but it carried a force that changed the atmosphere of the room. Eames half-expected to find the occupants of the bar to turn to look in their direction, sensing that someone was messing around in his head while he dreamed. But the other attendants continued nurturing their drinks and sloppy conversations, completely oblivious to the two men tucked away in the shadows. 

“Cobb…Dom, we’ve talked about this before. It’s possible, but it’s bloody difficult,” Eames said with a quick glance over his shoulder to scope out any potential prying eyes or ears. 

“But you see how it would work, don’t you? Let’s say the dreamers get lost down there. One of them performs inception; they plant the idea that this world isn't real. The dreamers will come to believe that notion and they’ll wake themselves up,” Cobb said in a bit of a rush while gesturing his hands to add emphasis. Clearly he had been fostering this idea for some time now. 

“Yes, there’s no doubt whatsoever that the idea is brilliant, Cobb," Eames said fidgeting with his glass, “but I have to ask, why are you only telling me this? I’m only a forger, after all. Why not tell Arthur or someone else more...capable?”

Cobb smiled slightly. “Yes, Arthur would probably be better suited for this job, no offense meant,” he said. Eames raised his hands in a 'none taken' gesture. “However, I feel, and I’m sure you’d agree with me, that Arthur might find the idea, well, somewhat unethical.” 

Eames chuckled lowly and nodded. “So, you sought out the most corrupt of all of us?” Cobb merely shrugged and took a swig from his glass while observing the rest of the bar, giving Eames a moment to consider. He retrieved a toothpick from his pocket and began to work on it while he thought. 

“Alright,” Eames finally said, “Let’s say I do take you up on your offer. How is it going to be done? We’ll run some sort of practice test, I assume?” 

Cobb nodded as he finished the rest of his drink. He gave Eames a calculating look. After a moment he finally spoke, “Yes. If all goes well, just one practice test will be necessary. You’ll be involved, naturally. I’m thinking we’ll only need one other person to help run the experiment. I’ll oversee everything, of course, but you’ll need someone in with you. Preferably, someone who doesn’t know about this.” 

“So, who will be going in with me, then?” Eames asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“Well, that’s the part I’ve struggled with the most. My first thought was Ariadne, but she’s still getting her feet wet. I’d rather her focus more on perfecting her skills than try to take on something like this. Yusuf might be okay, but I know he hates coming into the dreams and I’d be hard-pressed to think of a good reason to get him to enter this one. Plus, he’s hard at work on his new concoction anyway. Mal doesn’t do this kind of thing anymore, not since the kids came along, and I hate to even ask her to think of doing something like this.” Cobb paused and there was a heavy silence that hung in the air. “So,” he pressed on, “That only leaves one person…”

“Arthur,” Eames finished for him. 

“Arthur,” Cobb agreed. 

“You know he’d be appalled if he found out about this, let alone that he’d be apart of it, right?” Eames asked. 

“I know. But Eames, come on…you know how important this is. After what happened last time…I didn’t think Mal and I would ever get out. We didn’t have to resort to inception, thank god, but it was close. I’ve spent years trying to put together the best goddamn team out there and I refuse to lose them over something that we might have been able to prevent. Eames…William, please. I’m asking you as a colleague, as your friend, if you’ll help me try to do everything in my power to make this work. Will you help me? Will you help us, the team?” He finished his impromptu speech, but his pleading eyes remained on Eames’ face waiting for an answer. 

Eames worried the toothpick in his mouth for a minute while he took in his surroundings, determined to look anywhere but Cobb’s face. When he decided he couldn't avoid the plea any longer, he looked back at his friend. 

“Okay. But promise me, Dom. Promise me you’ll make sure to do everything in your power to get us back out in one piece, understood?” 

“Of course. Thank you, Eames.” 

“God…” Eames choked quietly before downing the rest of his drink. Cobb was already up and headed for the exit. Eames couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about this didn’t feel right. Every time he stole a wallet right under some poor fool’s nose or walked away from a casino with his pockets significantly heavier he’d never felt this kind of dread and anxious anticipation. He could only hope that they’d be safe in Cobb’s hands and that poor Arthur wouldn't figure out what they were up to.


	2. Chapter One

Not but a few weeks after Cobb's pitch, Eames made his way to the warehouse they used most often to run tests. He arrived even before Cobb, but that was okay; he needed the time to gather himself. The temptation to run was there, but Eames wasn’t that kind of man. Once he agreed to do something he would sooner die than break that promise. 

After about thirty minutes of pacing the door opened and Cobb stepped into the room. 

“Eames. Good, you’re here,” Cobb said striding over to him. He walked like a man who knew he might be doing something wrong, but who was also struggling to do what he thought was right. 

“Where’s Arthur?” Eames asked once Cobb reached him. 

“I asked him to be here half an hour from now. I wanted to go over the procedure with you.” 

“So that dear Arthur is none the wiser, right?” Eames finished what Cobb wouldn’t dare to say. Cobb dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Yes, essentially,” Cobb said. “Listen, if you really have a problem with this, I can go and you can stay here…” Cobb said leaning closer to Eames as though he were confiding a secret to him. Pointless really, since they were completely alone. 

Eames sighed, “No, no. I’ll go. I wouldn’t want to trade places with you. Truthfully, Dom, I’d rather not be part of this at all.” Cobb gave him a sad smile, but Eames waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be in great hands.”

With that, Cobb straightened up and seemed to remember his purpose. 

“Right. Okay, so in order to get you two into Limbo and for this to work, I’m thinking it’s best if Arthur doesn't know he’ll be going there. That being said, here’s the tricky part…” Cobb spent twenty minutes explaining the plan to Eames and drilling him about the role he would play, making sure that he could do it. 

When the conversation was over, Eames felt even worse about what they were about to do. Even if they made it back somehow all together he had a feeling that Arthur would never want to speak to him again and some part of himself that he had kept tucked away ever since their first job together felt despair at the thought of such a thing. 

There was little time to lament this fact, however, as Arthur strolled into the warehouse. He greeted Cobb stiffly, obviously not on good terms with him over forcing him to work with Eames. 

_Oh, if he only knew_ , thought Eames.

He was dressed in the finest pressed suit Eames had yet to see him in. Had he not been so focused on mentally trying to capture this image in his mind forever, Eames might have wondered why Arthur dressed so nicely for a simple test run. But it wouldn’t have mattered, because Arthur would have never admitted that he’d done it because Eames was there. 

“Mr. Eames,” Arthur said, barely moving his lips.

“Arthur. Excellent to see you. And my, what an outfit. Suits really do suit you, darling. Although, it wouldn’t kill you to dress down every now and then, love,” Eames said with a wink that only someone as observant as Arthur would notice. 

“Normally I would take offense to anyone saying something about my sense of style, but since I see you’ve been shopping, I’m sorry, shop _lifting_ , from thrift stores and dressing in the dark again, I’m willing to make an exception,” Arthur retorted all while taking in Eames’ loose burnt orange silk shirt, brown tweed pants, and matching jacket combo as though they had personally offended him. 

Eames tsked while waving a finger at him as though he were a naughty child. Arthur rolled his eyes and turned to Cobb instead. 

“You’re positive I have to work with this?” he took a moment to turn and glare in Eames' direction. 

“You wound me, darling, you really do,” Eames said while placing a hand over his heart and wearing an expression that promised the utmost innocence and sincerity. Had Arthur not been trying to remain professional he was sure that that action would have been rewarded with a rude hand gesture. 

Cobb sighed, “Yes, Arthur, I’m positive. Ariadne is busy with her schoolwork, Yusuf is hard at work developing new mixtures for us, and since this is my experiment I very well can’t be a part of it, can I?” 

Arthur didn’t argue, but given by the tenseness now present in his jaw it appeared as though he was working hard to bite back a retort. 

Cobb took the opportunity to continue, “Now, I know Eames is best at forging, but he’s also a decent extractor. You’ll be using whatever architectural abilities you have to create the dream and then you two will run the drill just to make sure it goes smoothly.”

“I still don’t understand why we need to do this, though. We’ve done jobs like this a million times over. What’s so different about this one?” Arthur asked, slightly exasperated, but maintaining his composure; his back straight, arms to his sides, head held high and meeting Cobb's eye line with the easy confidence of a man already bored to death with what appeared to be an insultingly primitive assignment. 

“Yusuf has created a new mixture for us. He says it will ensure less disruption until the kick is administered and time runs out.”

“Okay…” Arthur began, “That sounds great. What’s the danger then?” 

Eames shot Cobb a look. _He knows_ , he thought. _Arthur fucking knows what’s going on here. Of course, it’s part of his fucking job to do research. Oh my god…_

But Cobb cut into Eames’ train of thought, “Well, there is one hitch; very well spotted, Arthur,” Cobb inclined his head in Arthur’s direction, but the point man remained silent, prepared, Eames figured, to remain statuesque until he got his answer. 

“The problem with it is that if the dreamer tries to wake himself up before the time is over that he will fall into Limbo,” Cobb said quickly as though by saying it faster that Arthur wouldn’t be able to process information for what it really was. 

Eames remained frozen, perched on the edge of Cobb’s desk, biting his thumbnail while his eyes darted back and forth between Arthur and Cobb.

Finally, Arthur let out a long breath and spoke, “Okay.” He cleared his throat, “How long do we have?” 

Cobb was taken aback by how quickly Arthur recovered. “I’ll set the time on the PASIV for five minutes, which gives you both an hour to complete the drill. If you wake up before it’s done, I’ll bump the time up and put you back under.” 

Arthur nodded his head shortly almost as though it pained him to do so. 

“Excellent,” Eames clapped and stood up from the desk, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get started, shall we?”


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks, we're not into the really hard-hitting stuff just yet, but there is some inkling of it in this chapter. There's a bit of violence as well as some vague gesturing towards sexual abuse so if you're bothered at all by any of that you might want to skim or skip this one.

The moment Eames entered the dream he began looking for Arthur. 

As he was walking he took a moment to take in his surroundings, trying to best guess where Arthur might be. He realized that he was in a city, not unlike New York, but not quite like it at the same time. It appeared to be mid-afternoon, but the streets were almost deserted save for a few sidewalk vendors and the occasional pedestrian utilizing the crosswalk. 

A few blocks down Eames came to a posh little bar. _Definitely Arthur_ , he thought, and stepped in. 

In here it was much more populated. Eames squeezed his way through the crowd to the actual bar where sure enough, there sat Arthur. 

“There you are, darling,” Eames said as he nudged his way to stand next to Arthur who remained seated with a drink in front of him, untouched. (He was, after all, professional to the core). “I was beginning to wonder where you’d run off to,” Eames said, smiling as he reached for Arthur’s drink.

Arthur swatted his hand away and gave him a stern look. “This is your dream, Mr. Eames. Why don’t you tell me how I got here.” 

Eames faltered for a moment. It was, after all, unusual in this kind of test run to end up separated from your partners. He quickly realized that it had been him damn mind; his mind had actually pushed Arthur away from him for fear of what he was going to have to do. 

He quickly regained composure by swiping the drink away before Arthur could do anything about it, taking a great gulp, and saying, “I guess I just felt like playing a little cat and mouse.” He added a wink for extra effect. 

“Good to see you’re not going to make this complicated at all,” Arthur said sourly as he watched Eames finish the last of his drink. “Let’s go.” He stood and briskly weaved through the crowd to the door. Eames followed behind, hands in his pockets and taking measures to scope out his projections that were filling the bar. He thought back on a conversation he had had with Cobb before Arthur arrived and they went under.

_“Dom, surely it doesn’t have to be that way. What if...what if we go into Arthur’s dream instead, I mess around in there a little bit, you know, keep changing things until his projections come to get me. Once they take me, he’ll come after. We’d end up in Limbo and nobody’s feelings would be hurt," Eames had proposed, ever the optimist._

 _Cobb gave the politeness to at least pretend to consider what Eames had just said, but it was clear that he had already thought of this and decided against it. A moment or maybe an hour passed between them. The silence was killing Eames. “Jesus, Dom, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong with that plan? Why does it have to be this way?”_

_Cobb finally looked up from his hands which were clasped in between his knees. “Eames, I’m saying this as a friend, but you are a horrible architect. You know it, I know it, and Arthur especially knows it. Don’t get me wrong, you’re an amazing forger, the best. And you do a decent job of extraction. I’m also confident that you’ll be able to perform inception beautifully. Hell, you could even make a decent point man if you so wanted. But Eames…you just don’t have the skills to be an architect. If I let you do that, gave you the power to control those elements of the dream, it would take you longer than an hour to provoke Arthur’s projections to come after you. Also, don’t you think Arthur would be suspicious if I told him I was going to let you be the architect on this one? No, Eames, I’m sorry. It has to be this way. I’ve thought of every other possible option, but this is the best one we’ve got. Just…just use your ability to act to your advantage."_

_"Does it have to be this, though?" Eames asked, slight desperation creeping into his voice. "The research you had me do...what I found out, it..." he faltered, Cobb's comment about him being a decent point man seemed to mock him now. He'd long suspected there was something to Arthur's past, they'd all been in his mind before and knew he built mazes better than anyone. Cobb had confided to him that he'd once caught a glimpse behind a locked door and that Arthur had been borderline furious with Cobb for having craned his neck to try to get a better look during a moment of vulnerability brought on by a dream-conjured bullet wound in his side. Cobb had been content to let the curtain settle back over whatever Arthur meant to keep private, until he realized it might help him accomplish his goal, apparently. God how Eames desperately wished he could back out now. "He's never mentioned it to you or me or anyone on the team, as far as I know and...for what seems to be a damn good reason. Why this, why something so...harmful?"_

_Cobb sighed, more resigned than ever before. "Eames, I told you, Arthur can't know the goal is to get to Limbo." He swallowed once and purposefully averted his gaze. "I'm banking on him either shooting you or himself and then you'll be where you need to."_

_"Provided he doesn't just rightfully leave my ass there to rot, that is..." Eames muttered darkly, his own eyes downcast._

_"Arthur wouldn't do that. I know this is...bad, but he's still Arthur. He's a man of principle, he'll realize the implications of his actions and he'll try to get you out. And later, if all goes well, you can apologize and explain."_

_Eames highly doubted apologizing would do any good with Arthur, especially knowing what he’d be using against him, but it was entirely too late to back out now.  
“Right,” he whispered, “you’re right. Okay. I’ll do it.” _

_Cobb grasped Eames shoulder for a moment, but the forger couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes._

“…so I think it would be best if we took the subway. We’ll get off just shy of five blocks from where this test run will take place. I think if all goes well, we could have this done in forty minutes. Eames?”

Eames had been so lost in thought that he didn’t realize Arthur had started talking, going over the plan, of course.

“Yes, darling. That sounds absolutely wonderful.” Arthur stopped and looked Eames over for a moment, more than likely deciding whether telling him off for not listening was worth it. He returned to his stride, apparently deciding that Eames wasn’t worth the time. He was anxious to get this over with so he could return back to his apartment to go over his research for the fifteenth time. 

Eames followed Arthur to the subway station, all the while mentally preparing himself for what was to come next. 

Arthur sat down first and rather than respect his silent wishes to be left alone, Eames sat down next to him. 

“What? We’re not going to be on long,” Eames said while giving Arthur his best cocksure smile. Arthur shook his head and turned to look the other direction, however, the sight he was met with wasn’t any better. 

A few seats down sat a young boy. He had dark hair and a slight frame, but that’s not what Arthur noticed; the boy’s face was positively covered with blood and his shirt was so smeared with it that it gave the impression of some sick, half-assed version of tie-dye. He had a far-away look on his already bruising face and from the way his arms were tucked around his body it appeared as though he was literally trying to hold himself together. 

“I can’t…how did you…Eames, what the fuck is this?” Arthur said all while never taking his eyes off the boy. 

“I think you know what that is, Arthur,” Eames whispered in his ear. Arthur hadn’t even been aware that Eames had moved so close to him. He shuddered and tried to scoot away from him. 

“You can’t know about that. No one else knows about that…She wouldn't have told...” Arthur began, but fell short, for Eames was moving closer to him. 

“Can’t I?” Eames practically purred, having finally trapped Arthur in the farthest corner of the seat so that he was pressed in between the cold plastic and metal of the seat and Eames himself. 

“How did you…I changed everything. Everything. My name…my eyes…I even left my mother and everyone I love. They think I’m dead. I worked so hard recreating myself. How could you have found out?” Arthur whispered, something like horror shining in his eyes. Eames felt sick with himself, but continued on.

“Well, darling, let’s just say I might have run into you back then…” He let the sentence hang in the air. 

“Wh...what? But…no, Eames. No. I remember every one. Every single one. You were never…No, it’s not possible…” Arthur began, but something was happening. Eames was disappearing before him. His hair became much shorter, his frame bigger and bulkier. Facial hair appeared where there had been none just seconds before. His eyes changed color and shape and now held a sinister look. Even his tacky clothing disappeared and was replaced with something that a trucker might wear. 

Arthur couldn’t breathe. He tried to form words but only choked out “no” and “oh god” a few times. 

“That’s right,” The thing that was once Eames now cooed. “You remember me, don’t you, Neil? Brighton Beach, right?” Arthur began shaking his head violently back and forth. “You don’t? Well then perhaps you could use a little reminder…” the man said gruffly as he stood up from hovering over the quivering figure beneath him. 

Hating himself more than he even thought possible, Eames reared back his hand and slapped Arthur across the face. He then pushed him down onto the seat so that he was now lying on his back. He crawled on top of Arthur and tried to pin him down. He leaned forward and whispered, “Slut knows what’s coming next.” 

“NO!” Arthur screamed with what seemed like every fiber of his being. Without thinking, he reached into his jacket and produced a pistol. He pointed it at the man who had now shifted back into Eames.

“Arthur...please don’t!” but it was too late. Arthur had pulled the trigger. 

He lay on the seat, with a now very much dead Eames still on top of him, completely shell-shocked. He finally sat up, pushing Eames off of him and turned back to where the boy, the younger version of himself, had been, but of course now that Eames was gone so was the projection. 

Arthur propelled himself from the seat and began pacing. He couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. 

How had Eames found out about his past and why, dear god, why did he use it against him like that just now? His stomach rolled unpleasantly at the image of Eames' face transforming into another's, of that man's... Only, there was no way Eames could have known what he looked like exactly. He'd had a description to work with, but...as with most dreams, Arthur's own mind had helped fill in the blanks. His unconscious had helped shift Eames' forge, something he'd never thought possible until now, but the eyes that once haunted his dreams were burning new holes into his memory, only now they looked too much like Eames'. 

Arthur kept moving faster and faster until he began working up a sweat. He loosened his tie a little, although it didn't do much help. 

He was furious and confused, which was never a good mixture. He finally decided that he needed to talk to Eames. Now. He would torture him if he had to in order to find out what the hell just happened. But just as the thought of finding Eames and talking to him came into his mind he realized that something was very wrong…

Cobb’s words were coming back to him. His warnings about this new mixture and how if the dreamer tried to wake himself up before the time was up that, “…they’d be lost in Limbo,” Arthur whispered to himself. “Oh god…” he said, “Oh god, Eames! What have I done?!” 

Arthur quickly returned to the seat where he had just been lying and picked up his gun, now on the floor from where he had dropped it without even realizing it. 

He checked his watch first to see how much time had passed. He only had fifteen minutes left in this dream. It was now or never.

He put the pistol to his temple. “Please let this work” he said and pulled the trigger.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so this is where we start to dig into Arthur's backstory, which means there's mention of past sexual abuse and the like. Again, if this bothers you at all I'd recommend just sort of skimming this one over or skipping it entirely.

“EAMES! Eames, goddammit, where the fuck are you?!” Arthur screamed as he ran down deserted street after deserted street with no sign of the forger anywhere. 

How long he’d been running and shouting, he couldn’t be sure, for he was now in Limbo. It could have been a few minutes or it could have been years. 

Crooked buildings with broken windows lined every street. It was impossible to determine what time of day this was supposed to be, for there was neither sun nor moon and it was neither light nor completely dark. Arthur was beginning to feel sick when he finally saw movement up ahead: a figure skirting around a corner. 

“Dammit, Eames, I’m tired of playing games. Come the fuck out now!” Arthur yelled. Both anger and concern laced his hoarse voice. As he got closer to where he saw the figure he could now hear footsteps walking, walking, and finally stopping. He could almost hear the hesitation before the steps continued, this time getting closer to Arthur instead of further away.

The figure appeared from around the corner. “Arthur! I’m so glad you could…” SMACK! Eames staggered back and hit the brick wall of one of the tottering buildings. He rubbed his cheek and cautiously looked up to meet Arthur’s furious gaze. 

His hand was still half-raised from administering Eames a well-deserved slap. He was trembling all over with rage and his jaw was set so tight Eames was sure his teeth had to be grinding together painfully. 

Arthur swiftly closed the gap between them until he was right in Eames’ face.

“Explain yourself. Now or I will leave your sorry ass here.”

“Darling, I…” Eames began.

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Arthur yelled. Eames flinched. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur...I’m so sorry,” Eames said just above a whisper.

Arthur said nothing, but gave him a look that suggested that he was growing impatient waiting for an explanation. 

“Right…” Eames began, “Look, I know what I did was…uncalled for, but it was…necessary.” 

“Necessary? Oh, this should be good. How on earth was it necessary to do what you did?” Arthur hissed.

“It’s just…well...you’ve gotten a little…” Eames trailed off. 

“A little what?” Arthur said while getting right up in Eames’ face once more. “A little what, Eames? Hmmm? What?!” 

Eames was now shaking slightly, frightened by Arthur’s outburst and fearful for what Arthur might do if he became any more upset. “Well, a little sloppy in your work…” he said to his shoes. He let the sentence trail off and a moment of painful silence unfurled itself between them. He squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the inevitable blow that he was sure Arthur would now give him. 

Rather than hit him, Arthur took a few steps back, stunned. 

He ran a hand through his now unkempt hair. If Eames hadn’t been so frightened he might have taken a moment to appreciate just how stunning Arthur looked like this: All of the gel that had been holding his hair in place was now practically diminished from sweat and Arthur continuously running his hand through it. His tie was loosened just a touch and his suit jacket had come undone and was now fighting against his shirt as to which direction it thought Arthur’s clothes should be going. 

“Sloppy. I’ve gotten sloppy?” he gave a mirthless laugh. “Okay, okay. I’ll play along. Please, illuminate for me, _William_ , just how it is that I’ve been failing my duties.” 

Eames mumbled something, eyes downcast. 

“Sorry, didn’t catch that. Speak up,” Arthur commanded.

“The Sternberg job,” Eames finally said loud enough for Arthur to hear. 

The effect was instantaneous. All the color from Arthur’s face left and his newfound cocky attitude went out of him almost visibly like watching rain make its way down a window. 

“That was one mistake…I worked really hard and I…” Arthur trailed off, now far away in his mind reliving the Sternberg job where they almost didn’t make it out alive due to some fatal flaws in his own research. 

Eames took the opportunity to push himself off the wall and move closer to Arthur.

“It wasn’t my idea, Arthur. I said you’d be fine. Sure, I didn’t know what you’d been through, but I was confident that that one mistake would set your straight. But then, you made that oversight for the Adler job and Cobb decided that something had to be done. Cobb set me to find out what was troubling you. If we had known…” Eames paused because Arthur had remained quite motionless and quiet so far. 

He stooped to meet Arthur’s gaze, which was focused on some unseen point beyond the cracked sidewalk. His eyes snapped to meet Eames’ and he swallowed thickly. 

“How did you find out?” he said quietly. Eames sighed. 

“Let’s find somewhere to sit, okay? Here, just in here.” He said as he directed Arthur into a building across the street. What it was intended to be was unclear, but there was a small table with two chairs inside. Eames helped Arthur into his chair and then took his place across from him. 

As Arthur stared at the tabletop Eames looked around the place while running a hand nervously over his stubbly face. When he looked back to Arthur he found the point man staring at him, looking disturbingly more like a lost child than an adult capable, Eames knew, of killing another man fifty different ways with his bare hands. 

“Right…” he said. “Well, naturally I began with a search based off of what I already know about you. Where you generally return to after jobs are completed, your name, your social security number, etc.” 

“How did you get my social?” Arthur asked. 

“I’m a thief, darling.” Eames said, smiling warmly, but only for a brief moment before returning to his solemn demeanor. Arthur only nodded faintly. 

“Well, as you know, that search provided little seeing as how your name was fake, as was your social. That is unless you really did die during 1972 in a car accident.” Eames said with a hint of humor in his voice. Arthur shook his head, dropping his gaze back to the tabletop. 

“My middle name is Arthur, though,” he said quietly, eyes flicking up quickly to meet Eames’ and then back to the table. 

Eames said nothing, but made a thoughtful noise in the back of this throat. He resumed his impromptu speech.

“I realized this task was going to be much bigger than what Cobb had anticipated, so I got inventive. I ran your picture through a database scanner.” Arthur looked up long enough to raise an eyebrow in Eames’ direction, curious as to how he had gotten access to such technology. “I may have made quite a few enemies over the years, but I’ve also left quite a few people who owe me a favor or two, let’s leave it at that, shall we?” Eames explained. Arthur shrugged and nodded, now studying his folded hands resting in his lap. 

“The scan brought up a high school yearbook picture of a Neil McCormick first thing. I had my doubts at first, but there were more school pictures and even one from the newspaper. Something about how this Neil had taken over for some recently retired veteran to announce baseball games. The article told me that this Neil McCormick was from somewhere called Hutchinson in Kansas. Naturally from there I sought out anyone who might have known this Neil. I ran into a Wendy Peterson. After I found her, I pretty much found out everything I needed to know.”

“So she told you everything? Just like that?” Arthur asked, hurt lacing his voice so much that Eames considered lying. Seeing as how Arthur had shared this delicate information with someone he was very close to and to have them give it away so quickly…of course it felt like a betrayal. She was, after all, probably the only true friend he had ever had in his life. 

“Well, yes. She didn’t want to, but I told her that it was very important and that your life depended on me knowing this information. I didn’t explain why, but she decided to trust me. Smart girl.” Eames hesitated, knowing the worst was about to come. “Once I gathered all of my information I came back to Cobb. I told him what I had learned and I also pleaded with him to drop this idea, but he wouldn’t budge. I would have rather shoved you into therapy than have to do this, Arthur. Believe me. But Cobb, fucking Cobb, he kept insisting that he’s known you longer and that you could handle this. That sure, you might be angry at first and you might resist, but if you were faced with this that you’d realize that you needed to put it to bed and we could move on. So, he asked me to, well…do what I did.” Eames took a shaky breath, “Arthur, I am so, so very sorry. I would have never…I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

Although Eames couldn’t see any tears, Arthur wiped his eyes quickly and made a distinct sniffling noise. 

“Right. Okay. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s…nothing. I’ll be alright. It’s no big deal, really. Happened a long time ago…I’m not that person anymore. I’m Arthur now. Neil is dead. I killed him.” Arthur said almost as though he were pleading a case, his voice husky with tears. 

“May I ask how you went from that to…this? Being Arthur?” Eames asked gently.

Arthur breathed deeply and sat back in his chair; slumped for the first time Eames could ever remember, even after the most exhausting of jobs. 

“After…that, what happened in Brighton Beach, I went back to Kansas. Some other stuff went down that isn’t all that important. I realized that I had to get out. Out of Kansas, out of that lifestyle, and most importantly, out of myself. I left home one night while my mom was out with one of her boyfriends. I used the last of my…my hustling money to get a ticket out of there. I ended up in a few different places. Somehow, I ended up joining the army.” Arthur chuckled darkly at that before continuing, “There’s really where everything began to change. I dropped my old name and adopted a new accent. I moved up quickly in the ranks until I was being recruited to try out the PASIV studies in military training. There I came across all different kinds of technology. The ones that interested me the most were the ones that were being developed to help change the appearance of certain special soldiers in order to perform top secret covert jobs. I wanted..." he faltered for a moment, something like shame seeping into his voice, "I wanted to be someone else. I thought maybe...maybe if I could change even just one aspect of who I was, of how I looked, that I could...I could take it all back. I could undo every touch, every encounter, every...every hurt. I didn't want to be the beautiful boy older men lusted after anymore, I wanted to be someone new. 

“My desire to change myself got the best of me. I was discharged for trying out one of the devices without authorized consent. I didn’t care, though. I had successfully changed my eye color and was actually relieved to be leaving the service. I did the best with what I could, I cut my hair, styled it different, burned all my old clothes and bought new ones. Overnight I became Arthur. I had to anyway, they were looking for Neil, I did steal a PASIV on my way out, after all. From there it was hard to get work, but eventually my path crossed with Cobb’s and the rest is history,” Arthur concluded. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, pretending as though the air of what had been said by both of them wasn’t crushing them. Arthur finally broke the silence, “Listen, Eames, I’d appreciate it if once we got back up there if you wouldn’t mention this again. Not to me, not to anyone, and especially not to Cobb.”

“Right,” Eames said quietly. 

“Good,” Arthur said as he stood up. “Now, let’s get out of here.” He began to move towards the door leading back out into the street, but Eames had gotten up just after him and was now pulling his hand away from the door handle. 

“Wait, Arthur…We can’t leave now.” 

“What? Eames, we’re in Limbo. The longer we stay down here, the less of a chance we have of making it back intact. Look, we can talk about…this, just you and me, if you really want, but right now we need to get out of here!” 

“No, Arthur. I’m sorry. You know and I know that once we get out of here that you’re going to avoid me and avoid Cobb until we finally let this go. I’m sorry, but I can’t take your word on this one, darling and if you don’t work this out, right here and now, then you’re never going to get over it.” 

Arthur made an impatient noise and moved to get past Eames who was now blocking the exit, but Eames held his ground. 

“Arthur, please. You might not give a damn or see how this is affecting you or you might just think you’ve got this under control, but you don’t, love. You really don’t and it’s just going to get worse. And…listen, I’m not just saying this, but you’re the best at what you do. It’s getting harder and harder to find someone like you who will do this job. All the other point men I’ve ever worked with have been lazy and careless and it’s almost gotten me in serious trouble before. Hence why we’re even here now. Because of them, I’ve been stuck in Limbo a handful of times and each time I had to fight like hell just to get out again, but I’ve got a grasp on this now and when the time comes, I can get us back out.” He said the last sentence with as much fervor as he could muster so that Arthur would understand that this could work and that they’d be alight.

Arthur was giving Eames a calculating stare, but Eames could feel that he was actually, truly considering the idea. 

“So, the plan is for me to stay down here, with you, and to work out these…issues until they’re behind me and then you’ll get us out of here? Just like that?” Despite the skepticism in his voice, Eames could also trace an almost pleading quality to Arthur’s tone, as though he really wanted to follow through with the plan, but felt like somebody needed to contradict Eames.

“Yes, darling. Just like that. That’s basically the plan. I’ll help you if I can,” Eames said, smiling in what he hoped would be an encouraging way. 

Arthur took a few steps back and went to sit at the table again.

“Al…alright,” He stammered. “I’ll try. But if either of us starts getting lost or if we can somehow tell that we’ve been here too long and it’s not done any good, we’re leaving. Clear?”

“As crystal, darling,” Eames said as he went to join Arthur at the table.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, we're still in the nitty-gritty right now. There's more mention about Arthur's past here which involves sexual abuse when he was a kid. If you need to pass this one by I completely understand.

Eames and Arthur spent the next few hours, or perhaps it was actually days, going over Arthur’s past. Never before had Eames gone so long without having a single thing to say, but he found that he just couldn’t articulate words that would accurately represent how Arthur’s story made him feel. 

Apparently, Arthur, or rather Neil, had been molested by his baseball coach when he was eight. As if that wasn’t horrifying enough to Eames, it didn’t happen just once. Arthur explained that for the rest of that summer his coach continued their…relationship until he simply disappeared from the area. As it turns out, the coach not only abused poor Neil, but he used him as a prop to bring in other children. It was Neil’s job to make it look like fun so that the other boys would comply with the coaches sick desires. 

The strangest part to Eames seemed to be that Neil didn’t react like you’d expect a child to. He said that he actually enjoyed it, or thought he did, anyway. He said it felt nice to think that someone loved him, that it made him feel special.

Arthur told him that another boy, Brian, had also been abused. Apparently he had suppressed the memory so deeply that when he started experiencing flashbacks of the event he began to honestly believe that he had been abducted by aliens. It was Neil’s job eventually to explain the truth to Brian. Arthur confessed that that was the second worst moment of his life. 

“What was the first?” Eames asked, fearing he already knew the answer. “If, that is, you don’t mind me asking?” he added quickly, afraid to push Arthur too hard, too fast. 

“No, it’s fine,” Arthur said with a sigh. He stared out the window with a sort of determined look set on his face. “When I was fifteen, I heard about a place where people could go to find men who would pay for sex. I don’t really know what I was chasing after, perhaps another Coach, but the idea possessed me. It wasn’t long at all before I found myself on an abandoned playground, scoping out johns. After the first time I was…hooked.” He gave a cynical laugh at that. Eames shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t say anything.

“I did that for quite a while. I ended up growing tired of the clientele in Kansas so I followed my friend Wendy to New York. She never approved of what I did, but she knew it would be no use to tell me to stop. The most she could do was warn me to be careful. 

“I got a bit shaken up one night over this one guy. When we got to his place, he took off his clothes and I could then see that his body was just…covered in sores. He looked like he was simply rotting away. I was terrified. We didn’t actually…you know, but still. I told Wendy about it and she was really bothered by it. Not long after that, she started going on about how she had found a job I might be interested in. It was some sandwich shop deal. I didn’t really want to take it, but I thought it might make her happy. It did.

“One night, on my way home from work, this car pulls up. It was the usual, ‘wanna go for a ride?’ kind of stuff. I could tell pretty much the second I got in with him that I’d made a mistake." Arthur stopped here and looked back out the window. 

“If you don’t want to carry on, we can save this for later. We have time.” Eames said gently. Arthur shook his head, pressing his lips together tightly. He'd committed himself to telling Eames the story, his story, in its completion.

“No, I want to finish. If I don’t say it now…I don’t know if I could pick back up again.” Eames nodded and leaned forward in his chair to reach across the table and pat Arthur’s smaller, deceptively delicate-looking hand with his larger one.

“Whenever you’re ready, love.” 

Arthur took a few moments shifting in his chair and averting his eyes about the room. He finally began again, “Once we got to his crummy apartment in Brighton Beach, he became this forceful monster. He…he hit me around a bit, spit on me, and kept calling me ‘slut’. He threw me on the bed and trapped me beneath him. He told me that…he said, ‘slut knows what’s coming next...'" Arthur broke off for a moment and Eames dropped his gaze, a hot swoop of shame sweeping through him.

“I managed to get out somehow and locked myself in his bathroom. I tried to think of how I was going to get out of there when I saw he was breaking the lock. He burst into the room and hit me so hard that I fell into the shower, face first. He got behind me, grabbed my legs, and he, well, he…” Arthur broke off.

“I get it. Continue,” Eames said, shortly. His blood was boiling beneath his skin. He was already making promises for once they got out here to find this man and seek revenge in Arthur’s name. 

“I’ve never felt pain like that. Ever. Not even now with being shot and being stabbed and all the other wonderful ways we get to die. And not even just that…part; my head kept slamming into the wall. I tried to get up, but all I managed to do was turn the cold water on. At some point, he grabbed a shampoo bottle and started hitting me on the head with it, all the while screaming ‘slut’ and something about how I was loving what he was doing. After he was done I don’t really remember what happened. I just know that I woke up outside the apartment building, covered in blood, and that I needed to get home to my mom.” 

Arthur stared at his hands as though he’d been made to memorize them. Eames was trembling slightly from anger and unconsciously forming fists with both of his hands. Arthur finally looked up to meet Eames’ gaze. There were tears in his eyes. 

“I guess you think I’m pretty disgusting now, right?” and with that, he lost it completely. Eames had never seen someone cry that hard quite that quickly before, but here was Arthur with tears rolling down his face into his lap as he took massive, choking breaths in between sobs.

Eames forgot about his anger and was out of his chair and around the table in seconds. He was angled awkwardly, clutching Arthur’s shaking shoulders and pulling the distraught man to him, but he didn’t care. Arthur grabbed blindly at Eames’ sides, finally ending up with one hand wound tightly in Eames’ jacket lapel and the other pulling at his shirt trying to bring him closer, as though by burying his face deep enough into Eames that he could disappear or make the tears stop. 

Eames hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do, but he settled for wrapping one arm around Arthur’s back and running the other through his hair, trying to soothe him. He tried also to whisper words of comfort, but he doubted whether Arthur could hear them over his crying. 

Eventually the sobs began to ease up a little and Arthur began to shake less and less until he was finally still. He hands loosened from gripping Eames’ clothing so tightly, but they didn’t drop away. He pulled back a little and looked up at Eames, a frightened curiosity in his swollen eyes. 

Eames placed the hand that he had used to stroke Arthur’s hair on the side of his face, cupping his jaw. 

“To answer your question, no darling, I don’t think you’re disgusting. Not at all.” 

Arthur’s lip trembled, but it seemed as though he had no tears left to spare. Eames leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on Arthur’s forehead. Arthur relaxed into him and they remained like that until Arthur mumbled that he was sleepy. 

Eames helped him up and led him across the room where there was now a door on the far wall. He opened it while still supporting Arthur and eased him inside. 

It wasn’t great, but there was a bed and a nightstand complete with a small lamp on top. In the corner there was a dusty blue recliner. 

They both knew that real sleep wasn't possible, not in the dream state and certainly not in Limbo. He knew that when Arthur closed his eyes that he wouldn't drop into some deeper level or out of the dream completely, but that instead he'd be able to sort of meditate into a state of rest. They'd found that on the longer jobs, the ones that spanned for weeks in dream time, this version of sleep was particularly useful for staying sharp. Eames also knew with some stabbing sense of betrayal that pretending as though he were truly putting Arthur to bed would be one of the first steps towards getting Arthur to lose his sense of perception on what was real and what was just a dream. He put that aside for now and focused instead on taking care of Arthur. 

Eames pulled back the sheets on the small twin size bed and helped Arthur out of his shoes and into the covers. Arthur’s eyes were already closed as he wiggled around trying to make himself comfortable. Eames reached a hand out to move a stray piece of hair that had fallen into Arthur’s eye. He tucked it behind Arthur’s ear and went to move his hand away when Arthur grabbed him by the wrist. His eyes opened slightly and he gave Eames a warm smile. “Eames, I…thank you.” 

“No problem, Arthur. Now get some sleep.” He said, trying to return the smile. Arthur let go of his hand and slid it underneath his cheek instead. Within minutes his breathing was much deeper and Eames knew that he’d drifted off. 

He settled himself into the recliner, determined to not follow suit in case Arthur got up and became distressed again. He began going over all that Arthur had told him and he could feel his stomach clench and his throat become tight. The worst, he thought, was that he had actually used all of this against Arthur. It was true that Arthur's work had gone a little off the rails as of late, but Eames had been telling the truth; he would have gladly overlooked it, chalked it up to exhaustion or simple human error, but Cobb, the manipulative bastard that he was (which incidentally made him such a good extractor), he saw it as even more of a perfect excuse. Under the guise of helping Arthur with his issues, Eames would see to it that he got lost. Cobb claimed that inception wouldn't work unless Arthur truly needed a reason to have his state of mind altered. And so it became a regular two birds with one stone situation. Not only would Eames play therapist to Arthur's issues, ensuring that he'd once again be the perfect point man that he was so known for being, he'd also have a valid excuse to keep Arthur in Limbo longer until his mind would become fuzzy with the details and then Eames would step in, this time in the role of the hero, and pull them both out, but not before convincing Arthur through inception that it was the right thing to do. The more Eames lingered on it, the sicker he felt. He was no better than Cobb no. He was manipulating Arthur horribly and even though he knew in his heart he did want to help, that he truly wanted to see Arthur overcome his shadowy past, he knew it shouldn't be like this. He knew Arthur deserved better than to be treated as a lab rat by his coworkers. He also knew, though, that he was in too deep now. He'd ripped off the bandage and tore open the wound and if nothing else, he would need to see to it that he stitched Arthur back to good as new with as minimal scarring as possible. And...he was still a man of his word. He'd complete Cobb's task and beg for Arthur's forgiveness when the truth would inevitably come out, hopefully from his own mouth although he felt too much a coward to even begin to think of how to break the awful truth to him. How he would ever make up for such a thing, he didn’t know, but he was determined to do everything he could to try.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a mature scene in this chapter (100% consensual and of appropriate age!) but if that's not your cup of tea there's no judgement on my part, just want to give you a head's up!

Arthur and Eames spent the next few days, as best as they could judge Limbo time, that is, moving cautiously around each other. Eames was careful to pay special attention to Arthur and how his moods were before approaching him or speaking. During the times in which Arthur would tuck himself away into the corners of the deserted building, usually curled tightly in a ball at the far end of a shabby couch with a book clutched between his hands while his eyes remained fixed and his hand scarcely turned a page, Eames would wander outside with his hands shoved in his pockets and his feet taking him to different places that vaguely resembled old houses in which he had lived in briefly over the years.

On a rather blustery day, with the wind beating at the building mercilessly, Arthur actually approached Eames. He found the forger back in the bedroom, which now accommodated two beds, sitting on his own with his back against the headboard and his long legs stretched out on top of the covers while he idly flipped through a magazine. It took him a moment to register that Arthur had stepped into the room. As he was flipping a page, he noticed the point man standing in the doorway.

“Oh! Arthur, I didn’t see you there.” He hastily moved off the bed, flinging the magazine carelessly onto the nightstand. “If you want to lie down for a little while, I was just thinking of getting some fresh air.” He moved to slide past Arthur and out the door, but a hand to his chest stopped him. Grey blue eyes that had been trying to look at anything but the other man suddenly met brown. Eames dropped his gaze a few times, but Arthur remained staring right at him. 

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” he finally said, quietly. 

“Oh,” was all Eames could manage. Arthur’s hand still hadn’t left his chest, but instead of just having the tips of his fingers pressing into Eames, his hand was now idly toying with the jacket lapel. 

“I wanted to talk, if that’s okay,” Arthur said, now watching his own hand work Eames’ jacket.

“A-alright,” Eames stammered. He realized, rather horribly, that he was looking at something of an afterimage of Neil. That this person, this entity, could command another man no matter how much older or bigger with just the slightest touch. 

Arthur ran his hand over the lapel in an attempt to straighten it out, knowing it was a lost cause, and nodded. He pulled away from Eames and moved around him to sit on his bed.

Eames stood dumbly, seemingly rooted to the spot until Arthur pointed across from him, indicating for Eames to take a seat on the opposite bed. Once Eames was settled, Arthur took a moment to go over in his head once more what he wanted to say. Once he felt ready, he began.

“I thought you ought to know, I’ve been doing a great deal of work, on myself and this…problem.” He spoke with as much dignity as he could muster for a man who had not so long ago broken down completely in another man’s arms. 

Eames gave him a short nod. “That’s spectacular, Arthur.”

Arthur continued on as though Eames had not spoken, “I have realized that although I made some serious mistakes in my life, that what happened to me, that that wasn’t anything that I deserved.”

“Arthur, of course not...” Eames began, but Arthur cut him off.

“And I’ve come to accept that what has happened in my past has happened, the good and the bad. The only thing I can do now is to try and make a better life for myself.”

“Of course,” Eames agreed. “I’m happy for you, darling. I think this is really going to…”

“So, I think it’s about time we left here,” Arthur said sharply.

“You what?” Eames asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he stared at Arthur.

“Leave. I think it’s time. I’ve tackled my issues and I’ve got a hold of them now. My work should be improved. I don’t see any reason for why we should remain.”

Eames began to rub his hands nervously between his knees. Arthur remained stiffly seated on the edge of the bed with his back straight and his eyes locked on Eames intensely.

“Arthur…we can’t go back just yet. You’re…you’ve made some wonderful progress, but I think we should at least give it one more night,” Eames said to the carpet.

“And why do you think that, Mr. Eames?” Arthur asked coldly.

Eames sighed deeply and continued to stare at the floor.

“William, I asked you a question,” Arthur said, not unlike some of Eames’ harshest boarding school teachers. 

Eames finally lifted his head to meet Arthur’s burning stare. “Because, love, you’ve been having nightmares or night terrors, whichever they are, I don’t know the bloody difference. You thrash in your bed and cry out in your sleep. I…I never do anything, because I don’t know what would happen if I tried to wake you. You had one last night…” he trailed off. 

He could see Arthur deflate a little at the news. His shoulders slumped slightly and his dropped his gaze to the comforter, as though to question it whether or not Eames’ statement was true. “I have?” he asked just above a whisper.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Arthur,” Eames said gently. 

“I see,” Arthur said running a slightly shaking hand over his mouth. “Well, if you’ll excuse me…” and he got up to leave the room.

“You don’t have to do this by yourself, you know!” Eames called after him.

Arthur had made it to the hallway, but moved slowly back into the doorway. “Oh yeah, and how exactly do you think it is that you can help me?”

“Well, if you’d let me, I could start by being your friend,” Eames replied, gesturing his hand towards Arthur and then letting it flop back onto the bed. 

Arthur scoffed and moved to go back out into the hallway. 

“Jesus, Arthur! You can’t just keep it all to yourself, you know! You never talk to anyone, and not just about this, about anything!” Eames half-shouted as he stood up from the bed. “When was the last time you ever opened up to someone, huh? The last time you ever just told someone about your day, all the trials and tribulations of what happened from the moment you woke up until you laid down to sleep? Or how about the last time you got excited about something and shared the news with someone else? Or...or how about when you’ve had a bad day and you just wanted someone to cheer you up, take your mind off of things? It’s no wonder this’ happened, Arthur, you’re not only suppressing this, but every goddamn feeling you ever have! So, I’m asking you, please, please, Arthur...let me help you,” Eames concluded, chest heaving slightly.

Arthur had crossed his arms across his chest, but there were tears forming in his eyes. 

“I just didn’t think anyone would care to hear about any of those things,” he said faintly. Eames moved until he was right in front of him. He placed his hands on both of Arthur’s elbows and ducked his head to make eye contact.

“Yeah? Well, I care. I care about all of those things, darling. I want you to tell me about all of them. I want to know what makes you happiest in the world and what pisses you off more than anything, aside from myself, that is.” Arthur gave a watery chuckle. “I want to know about your hopes and dreams. I want to know what your favorite books are and how you like your coffee in the morning. I want to be your friend, Arthur. If you’ll let me.” Eames’ eyes were bright and pleading. 

“Cream and sugar. I like my coffee with cream and sugar,” Arthur said, meeting Eames’ eyes. 

Eames broke into a smile that would make the sun ashamed of its own brilliance. “it’s a start!” he said with bravado. Arthur allowed himself to be hugged to Eames’ chest.

oOo

From that point on, Arthur slowly began to open up more and more to Eames. He learned about how much Arthur missed his mother and his friends from childhood, how he loved to read, mostly just the classics, and how he was fluent in French having studied it during a brief period in college and in the army. He also found out that Arthur dreamed of one day becoming a real architect.

“What kind of buildings would you make?” Eames asked him one day while they shared a spectacular brunch on the patio of an abandoned restaurant that overlooked the sea. 

Arthur chewed his bagel thoughtfully before responding. “All kinds. I’ll have to show you where I live sometime, there’s so much great architecture there. Of course, they didn’t arrange it right.” Eames smiled to himself over Arthur’s perfectionist ways and listened as Arthur launched into how he’d arrange the buildings so that they would mesh with the skyline better. 

“Amazing,” Eames said after listening to Arthur speak for what felt like hours and yet somehow just seconds. “You know, darling, I’d love it if you could show me some dream architecture. I know it’s not the same as the real stuff, but I’d be interested in seeing it nonetheless. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two. Truth be told, I’m rubbish at it.” 

Arthur smiled brilliantly at Eames who had bothered to lean forward across the table and lower his voice as though he were confiding secret information. 

“Yes, I could tell by just looking around here. All of the buildings are in total disrepair. It could use some work, no doubt about that,” Arthur said, still smiling. 

“So, let’s get to it, then!” Eames said with a laugh in his voice. He snaked a hand across the table to rest on top of Arthur’s. Arthur stared at it for a moment and then ghosted his thumb over Eames’ wrist before scooting back his chair and standing up. 

“Alright, then. Let’s go.” 

oOo

They spent god knows how long building. Day after day, Arthur kept constructing new things and Eames kept thinking of different things that they should create. All the time, he felt as though he was growing closer and closer to Arthur. Eames had begun to share stories with the other man about his life and upbringing; about how he’d been a hell-raiser since a small age, so his disgustingly wealthy parents had enrolled him into Britain’s finest boarding school which was, of course, a complete and utter waste of money. 

He left home and Britain at the age of 22 and came to America for a short while. While there, he first met Cobb at a casino in Vegas. Cobb had noticed Eames’ sleight of hand tricks and approached him outside the building. Fearing for a moment that he was about to be arrested, and no doubt deported since he’d never bothered with the correct forms and procedures to ensure his being there was legal, he tried to flee, but Cobb caught up with him and explained himself. He had asked if he’d be interested in some work. Top secret kind of stuff, but that was not, strictly speaking, legal. Eames agreed on the spot. After all, there was a hefty payout for such service. And from there, the rest was history. 

They even talked idly about when they first met. 

“You were wearing the most god-awful outfit I had ever seen in my life!” Arthur confessed, a little too loudly, one night over dinner and wine. 

“It wasn’t that bad, Arthur. You exaggerate,” Eames replied, but was more than happy to be the butt of the joke as long as Arthur continued to smile that precious, dimpled smile of his. 

“Oh, Mr. Eames, it was and I am not exaggerating! Honestly, how on earth did you think a lime green, silk collared shirt and plum pants would go together? You looked like some kind of…Batman villain or something!” He choked out, clutching his wine glass as he laughed openly. 

“I see nothing wrong with that whatsoever,” Eames retorted as Arthur mumbled something to the effect of, “Of course you wouldn’t” while taking another sip from his glass. 

Eames took the moment to really look at Arthur. The way his long, nimble fingers wrapped around the wine glass looked, how adorable he was when he laughed, how deep and natural it flowed from him. He couldn't help but notice how he yearned to run a hand through the hair that Arthur still insisted on keeping slicked back and in perfect condition, making sure that no stray piece ever came out. He noticed how Arthur would sometimes lick his lips before speaking and how he longed at this moment more than anything to feel his own lips pressed against them. 

Arthur lowered his glass and gave Eames a quizzical look. “What are you staring at?” 

“Don’t worry about it, darling. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” Eames said as he got up to leave the table. 

Arthur, thinking that he might have spilled some wine onto himself or gotten food on his face, began furiously scrubbing at his face and running his hands over himself to detect any spills. “Dammit, Eames!” he called after the forger. 

oOo

Arthur's progress wasn't without its fair share of roadblocks. In spite of Arthur's attempts to both accept and put his past behind him, Eames would still find him on occasion in the grip of some terrible memory. Sometimes they would talk through it, sometimes it was enough for Eames to just sit beside Arthur and let his presence be known. Eames couldn't be sure, but it felt like more and more time was slipping out from underneath them, to the point where even he wasn't sure how long they'd been under. The thought didn't comfort him much, even if he knew in some grotesque way that it meant that he was right on track. 

oOo

One day it began to rain without cease, but Arthur and Eames were both comfortable with this as they both loved this kind of weather. Arthur conjured a fireplace and a lavish bookshelf in their newly renovated place courtesy of his architecture lessons with Eames. They sat by the fireside reading in comfortable silence for quite some time, Eames preferring the couch and Arthur a rather handsome armchair. 

While flipping to the next chapter of his book, Eames sensed movement out of the corner of his eye, but continued reading, thinking Arthur was just shifting in his seat or perhaps stretching. He was surprised, then, to feel the weight of the leather couch dip ever so slightly. 

He whipped his head to the left quickly to find Arthur sitting next to him, but Arthur was still occupied with his book. He averted his eyes slightly from the text to look at Eames, giving him a look that said, 'Yes, I’m sitting here now. Carry on' so Eames returned slowly back to his reading. 

Moments later, the couch shifted again and Eames dared to sneak a glance in Arthur’s direction. The point man had now removed his shoes and had actually settled his back into the couch. Eames returned back to his reading before Arthur could silently chide him once more. However, a few moments later he abandoned all hope of trying not to notice the other man, because Arthur had turned so that his back was now pressing against Eames’ arm and his legs were now stretched out on the couch. 

“I…” 

“Hush, Mr. Eames,” Arthur quipped before Eames could finish. 

“If you say so, darling.” 

He was able to move on to another chapter before things got ridiculous. Arthur had now slid his body further down the couch and his head was using Eames’ thigh as a pillow. 

“Darling, I…”

“Just keep reading, Mr. Eames.” 

Eames sighed and continued on. 

Slowly, minute by minute, Arthur’s head kept moving more and more until it finally rested perfectly in Eames’ lap. 

There was a moment of silence between the two where Eames felt as though Arthur was silently daring him to protest, but Eames was quite content with their position and didn’t want to disrupt it at any cost. Arthur seemed satisfied by Eames’ lack of protest and decided to reward him. 

He removed one hand from supporting his book and reached up to Eames. He grasped the other man’s hand and drug it down to his hair. He placed Eames’ hand on top of his head and guided it through his locks of hair bound by gel. Once he helped Eames do this a few times, Arthur moved his hand back to support his book and continued to read, or pretended to anyway as Eames continued to stroke his hair.

Eames had set his book down with his other hand and was now staring raptly down at the beautiful man resting in his lap. He stroked Arthur’s hair until it was soft and loose, free from the product that held it together. Eventually, Arthur stopped feigning reading and laid his book on the hardwood floor. 

He slowly cast his eyes upward until they met Eames’. Gradually, he raised his hand up until it met the stubble on Eames’ cheek. His thumb drew lazy circles over the forger’s face and Eames bent lower to bring them closer together. 

Once they were mere inches apart, Eames whispered, “Arthur, I…”

“Shhh,” Arthur breathed and brought their lips together. 

It seemed as though both of their hearts were now in a race to see whose could beat the fastest. They broke apart gently, but the hunger was growing. Before either of them could say anything, they were locked together again. 

How long they stayed like that neither of them could be sure, but eventually they grew exhausted and fell asleep curled up together on the couch which seemed to have made itself large enough to accommodate two people pressed back to chest comfortably. 

oOo

When they awoke, Eames started to feel panicked. He was afraid that Arthur would say that it was all a mistake somehow and that they should never speak of it again, but he opened his eyes to find the point man smiling at him fondly. 

“Why, Eames?” Arthur asked him, stroking his arm lightly. 

“Why what, darling?” Eames asked drinking in the sight of Arthur next to him, bathed in sunlight streaming in from the window. 

“Why did we wait so long? It’s always been there. Deep down, I’ve always wanted this. Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

“No idea. You know, I don’t think we’re really as smart as we think we are. In fact, we’re bloody idiots, love,” Eames chuckled and Arthur broke into a smile.

“I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Eames,” he said as he moved in for a gentle kiss. 

That kiss soon turned into something a little more heated. Arthur ended up straddling Eames with one hand buried in his hair and the other clutching the arm of the couch behind Eames’ head as they grinded against each other like hungry teenagers. One of Eames’ hands was underneath Arthur’s shirt, roaming his body while the other supported his lower back. 

“I think. We should move. This to the bedroom,” Arthur said in between desperate kisses. 

“Mmmph, I agree,” Eames said forcing himself away from sucking on Arthur’s neck and collarbone. 

He swiftly maneuvered them from the couch into a standing position with Arthur’s legs wrapped around him and Eames supporting the smaller man’s weight with his hands clenched tightly around Arthur's thighs. 

They stumbled into the bedroom, banging into the walls and knocking things off shelves all the way. When they finally arrived, Eames noticed that the bedroom had been transformed; where two beds had once been, there was now one king-sized bed with a high, white canopy and sheets no doubt made from the highest thread count. The room itself had taken on a sensual feel to it, dull browns and beiges replaced instead with erotic blacks and vibrant reds. 

Eames tried to lower both of them as gently as possible onto the bed, but it seemed as though Arthur didn’t care by this point if he got bruised or not. His pupils were already blown wide with lust and his fingers were working to snap open the buttons of Eames’ shirt. 

Eames managed to scoot them both up until Arthur was pressed against the headboard and he was kneeling between Arthur’s legs which were spread only wide enough for Eames to situation himself between them. 

He latched himself back onto Arthur’s neck as his hands fumbled blindly to unbutton the point man’s shirt. Arthur let out a delicious moan as Eames sucked particularly hard at the place where his neck met shoulder. He pulled Eames’ shirt off and flung it off the bed before turning his focus to unclasp Eames’ ugly, worn out belt. 

It wasn’t long at all before both men were stripped and panting, taking a moment to drink in the other’s appearance and appreciate it. Arthur broke the moment by placing a hand on the back of Eames’ neck to pull him in for another kiss. 

“C’mere,” he said until their lips met. “Want you. Inside me” he panted between kisses and Eames let out a noise between a whimper and a moan. “Now, Eames. Now. Please god. I can’t wait. Waited for too long...” 

“I know, darling. Me too,” Eames managed between ragged breaths. 

He prepared Arthur as quickly and gently as he could, but it didn’t seem to matter. Arthur was on the verge of shouting when he finally felt Eames slowly begin to push inside of him. The pace was slow and slightly erratic at first, but they soon found a comfortable rhythm which kept increasing as both men neared release. Arthur had one hand on Eames’ back with his nails biting into the flesh there while the other fisted the sheets. Eames’ head was turned slightly, pressed into Arthur’s knee which was hooked over his shoulder, his mouth pressed in an open-mouthed kiss there, his breath hot against the skin while one hand gripped Arthur’s tiny waist tightly and the other was pressed into the pillow next to Arthur’s head. 

Closer and closer until Arthur’s hand which had been gripping the sheets was grabbing onto Eames’ arm tightly and he was screaming a combination of Eames’ name, curse words, and a stream of French. Eames was chanting Arthur’s name with his eyes shut tight, trying not to look at the writhing body beneath him so that he didn’t lose himself too quickly, but all too soon anyway was Arthur moaning, “I’m gonna cum. Eames, Eames, I’m going to cum…” and the rest of his sentence drowned out by a deep, almost keening noise issuing from his mouth as he sobbed Eames’ name. An animalistic moan ripped itself from Eames' throat as they came within seconds of each other; Arthur in between their stomachs which were tightly pressed together and Eames deep inside Arthur. 

Eames remained inside Arthur for a few moments until he stopped shaking enough to pull out and lie beside the other man who was also trembling, tears now drying down his face which was completely relaxed and had a serene look to it. The wound around each other and buried themselves beneath the covers. 

“I love you, Arthur,” Eames spoke after they shared a tender kiss. “I think I always have, really.”

Arthur smiled and stroked Eames’ cheek. “I love you, too. I think I must have always as well.” 

They fell asleep still wrapped around each other. 

Eames was not afraid of being accidentally hit by Arthur while he slept; Arthur hadn’t had any nightmares for quite some time now.


	7. Chapter Six

Neither Arthur or Eames could ever recall being this happy in their lives. After years of playing cat and mouse and pretending that they couldn’t feel the other one’s stare, glossing all of it over with snide remarks and constant repartee, they had finally taken down the wall that was between them. 

However, it wasn’t perfect; Eames still had a nagging thought in the back of his mind that told him that once Arthur found out what all of this was about that their relationship would surely dissolve and when that happened he didn’t know what he would do. In the meantime, he made sure to appreciate and memorize every moment that they had together, so that he would at least have something to remember if he ended up without Arthur. 

They continued to build like crazy and Arthur had actually progressed to constructing areas which were imitations of different cities. His personal favorite, of course, being Paris.

They spent many a happy afternoon lounging outside of cafes and watching boats sail by from the bridge that they called their own, Arthur eagerly pressed against the railing as he pointed at different kinds of fish and more beautiful architecture while Eames enveloped him from behind and smiled into his hair. Occasionally Arthur would actually throw back his head and laugh at some witty observation or joke Eames had just whispered into his ear. 

Once Arthur seemed to have exhausted his abilities to re-create cities he moved on to the memories. He built all kinds of places from his childhood: a school, a run-down house he explained had belonged to a friend named Eric, a baseball field, an abandoned playground, his childhood home, and a small house with a porch light that bathed everything in blue which he refused to talk about. 

It wasn’t long before Eames noticed that Arthur was acting differently. Aside from the fact that he hadn’t mentioned leaving Limbo once in, perhaps it had been years now, he seemed entirely too comfortable, almost as though they had slipped back into the real world without knowing it. He would often find Arthur sitting stoically, gazing into nothing and clearly doing some serious thinking. 

It broke Eames’ heart, but he knew what was happening; Arthur was losing his perception of things. Whether willingly or not, he was slowly beginning to choose this world as his reality. Truthfully, Eames couldn’t really blame him. This was, by far, much better than the real world. They could make whatever they wanted, play god for as long as they wanted and were free to act however they felt without having to worry about the repercussions of appearing out of character. He did miss Cobb and Mal, as well as Ariadne and Yusuf, but if need be he supposed they could always make projections of their friends...

Still, it just wasn’t right. Eames knew that the window was closing in for how much longer they could remain there before it would be impossible to recover Arthur. He needed to act and soon. 

oOo

Eames awoke the next morning knowing that today was the day, this was when he needed to perform inception.

Arthur wasn’t in bed with him like every morning before that. He had instead curled into the window seat and was gazing out at whatever city street he had decided should be out there. Eames felt his stomach twist and his heart clench in his chest. He took his time easing out of the bed, trying to put off this day for as long as he could. Going back would mean having to come clean with Arthur and as far as he knew that could mean losing him forever. For a moment the overwhelming urge to just stay in Limbo and damn the consequences nearly pulled him under, but...that wouldn't be right either. Dream or no dream, Eames knew he wouldn't be able to keep his guilty conscious at bay forever. 

He crept up behind Arthur and wrapped his arms around the lost boy. Arthur jolted in the embrace as though he had believed he was alone in the room. 

“Good morning, love,” Eames whispered into his ear, planting a small kiss on his neck. 

“Morning,” Arthur muttered back. 

“I’m rather put out, darling, do you want to know why?” Eames asked while tenderly running a hand through the point man’s hair. 

“Why’s that?” Arthur asked, eyes still fixed on the world outside. 

“I was having the most wonderful dream. It was about you. And me. I dreamed, oh Arthur, I dreamed that you and I grew old together,” he sighed.

Arthur turned ever so slowly to meet Eames' smiling face. 

“Oh?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. And it made me realize…Arthur, I love you. So very, very much. And I was wondering…oh god, I’m really terribly at this, aren’t I? Perhaps I should just be cliché about it.” Eames huffed and sank to the floor on one knee. He clasped one of Arthur’s hands in between his own. “Arthur, would you do me the honor…”

“Eames, are you serious?” Arthur asked, sounding for the first time in (days? months? years?) like himself. 

Eames stammered, “Wha…of course I am. I-I love you, Arthur. I really do. And, and I know this sounds trite and cheesy, but it’s the truth! I can’t see myself ever being with anyone else. Are you…are you saying no?” His heart felt as though it were sliding backward in his body, trying to avoid being out front and exposed. 

Arthur’s face remained stern for a moment, but then it slowly relaxed and he favored Eames with a small smile. 

“No, I’m not saying no, I just…this is so sudden is all and…and, well you’re just being so goddamn clichéd, but god, it’s you, Eames, I don’t know what else I expected.”

“So…that’s a yes?” Eames asked, an insane urge to jump into the air and cheer suddenly overcoming him.

“You can be, in your own words, an insufferable prat, but...yes. Yes, it’s a yes,” Arthur said after an classic eye roll, but he broke out into a radiating grin nevertheless as Eames’ body was suddenly smothering him and his mouth was placing kisses all over his face. 

Eames wasn’t entirely sure why he’d decided to ask Arthur at that moment, why he didn’t wait until they got back or perhaps asked earlier, but he recalled Cobb once saying that he felt as though positive emotion trumped negative every time, so perhaps even though Arthur would undoubtedly be furious with him, he might remember this moment and maybe, just maybe, that would make a difference. 

_Or maybe he’ll just see this as even bigger betrayal and think that all of this, the whole relationship, was a farce and he’ll hate you even more_ , Eames thought. He suppressed a shiver and sent a prayer to whatever gods might be listening to have that not be the case as he carried Arthur back to bed to make love to him one last time before they had to leave. 

oOo

Eames was making his way through all that Arthur had built while Arthur himself remained tucked away in their bed, sleeping off exhaustion. 

Knowing the point man, he would have made a physical act out of locking away his perception of what was real and what was not. The only trick was to find out where he had locked this truth away. 

After hours of searching bank vaults and lockers, it finally occurred to Eames where it would be. 

He jogged through Arthur’s portrayal of places from his past, wondering how much farther he’d have to go before he found what he was looking for. He passed the baseball field and an old fairground before coming to a stop outside of the house with the blue porch light. 

“Blue…” he whispered to himself and stepped up to the porch. He peered in through the front window, but couldn’t make out anything through the glass. He took a deep breath and opened the door. 

Inside, the lighting was very dim, but Eames could gather that he was in some sort of living room. It looked, he thought, as though a child had been allowed to decorate the place. There were a few game machines lined against the wall crammed next to a billiard table. Different kinds of posters were tacked to the walls and there was some sort of old-fashioned gaming system hooked to the TV next to a stack of old video games. The entire room was scattered with toys and there were two brightly colored bean bag chairs sitting in front of the TV. 

Eames suppressed the urge to either vomit or begin breaking things, because he now realized where he was: this was Coach’s house. He had put all this stuff in here knowing that it would only lure children, like Arthur, closer to him. 

Eames had to force himself to continue on through the house, remembering why he’d come here in the first place: to get Arthur back to safety. 

He checked a few rooms in the hallway but found nothing other than a standard coat closet, bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. Just as he was about to give up his search, he noticed a door in the kitchen that he must have passed over before. He supposed it could have been a pantry, but he figured he might as well try it anyway before moving on to some other place from Arthur’s past. 

He made his way through the kitchen, his feet crunching what appeared to be cereal beneath his shoes. He wasn’t sure why, but the crunching had an oddly sinister sound to it, as though he were stepping on scattered bones instead of sugary breakfast food. 

Once he reached the door, he took a deep breath and the turned the knob. 

There was no pantry beyond the door, but rather a bedroom. It appeared to be in total disarray what with mountains of clothes and junk piled up in the corners. The bed was shabby and unkempt and the room had the distinct smell of pot smoke. 

Next to the bed there was a simple dresser, also buried underneath mounds of clothing along with other odds and ends carelessly thrown on top. A stereo struggled to make itself known among the mess. 

Eames, acting on a hunch, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the top drawer open. Inside there seemed to be a collection of things that Arthur, or Neil, Eames supposed, had kept hidden away from the world. There was a stack of dirty magazines that he had stolen from his mother, an old photograph of a little league team, an old battered looking tape with a label that read “N. McCormick”, and an impressive stack of cash. 

Eames dug through the pile of secret belongings, becoming more desperate by the minute to find what Arthur had left here, for he was sure it had to be here, all the while the air of the house and this room began to press in on him, a headache beginning to blossom somewhere in the back of his mind. His hand nudged a small box and from inside he heard a noise as though something small, but slightly heavy had rolled over inside. 

He withdrew the box and held it in his hands. Warily, he lifted the lid and a choked sob escaped his lips. Lying innocently inside was Arthur’s red, loaded die. 

oOo

Eames spent a good while pacing about the room trying to decide what he needed to do. The little die lay on top of the dresser and although it had done no wrong, Eames couldn’t help but glare at it every time he passed by. 

Finally, he came to a decision. He had been careful when taking it out of the box to not move it so that any other side would be facing up. From what he understood, every time Arthur rolled the die in the real world, it would always land on three. In dreams, however, it would land on different numbers. 

Eames took a last look at the three white diagonal dots before he scooped up the die, shook it, and let it fall back into the box. Five little while dots were now facing up. He placed the lid back on top and shoved the box back into the dresser. He tore out of the room and out of the wretched house to go find Arthur. 

oOo

When he found the point man, it was clear he had been successful. There were tears running down Arthur’s face as he stood, seemingly lost in the middle of their bedroom, gazing at everything as though silently saying goodbye. 

“We have to go now, darling,” Eames said soothingly as he moved to wrap Arthur in his embrace. Arthur cried quietly against his chest and nodded faintly. Eames took one of Arthur’s hands that had been pressed into a fist against his chest and linked their fingers together. He guided Arthur out of their bedroom and out of their makeshift home, trying to remain strong for Arthur, but dreading what they were about to do. 

They walked for a while, admiring one last time all that they had created until they reached a set of train tracks that Eames had begun mentally constructing on his journey back home. 

Eames helped Arthur onto the tracks and made sure that he would be facing away from the oncoming train. He lay opposite of him and intertwined their hands tightly. 

He could already feel the tracks vibrating and he spoke, “You’re waiting for a train. A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can’t be sure. But it doesn’t matter. Now, tell me why it doesn’t matter, Arthur!” Eames said, his voice rising over the sound of the oncoming locomotive. He could see it now, bearing down on them. It was so close that he made himself tear his eyes away to meet Arthur’s which were wide and fearful, having seen the reflection of the train in Eames’ eyes. The sound was suddenly upon them, almost deafening, but Eames could still hear Arthur's answer above the roar. 

“Because we’ll be together!” Arthur shouted and then there was only dark.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just as a head's up, this chapter contains some self-harm. Skip ahead or read with caution as needed.

Eames did not awake with a start as he expected, but rather very languidly as though he’d just woken from a long night’s rest. However, it held none of the pleasantness of such a sleep for his body felt achy and stiff rather than loose and fluid-like. He shifted slowly and carefully in his lawn chair as though he were afraid that by moving too quickly that he would break or dislocate something. His mind, although sluggish, was working to remember just how long in Limbo years they had been stuck.

_About forty years_ , he thought, _had to have been_. He could remember watching Arthur from across their breakfast table, watching each year as his face grew more lined and a few strands of grey began to work their way into the point man’s hair.

He remembered how he laughed at himself when he tumbled off the couch and onto the floor after attempting to jump onto it as a much younger man than what he had become would have done. He remembered how he kissed Arthur’s face and the lines around his mouth and eyes, insisting that he still found him just as breathtaking as the first day they met and how Arthur had playfully shoved him away and chided him for after all these years still being so damned cliché.

Eames was jolted out of his memories when he heard movement next to him; Arthur was lying flat on his back in his chair with his eyes open wide. He was slowly moving his hands to the arms of the chair to push himself up, a simple enough task but Arthur's face held the look of a man slowly succumbing to quicksand. Eames forgot about his aching body and propelled himself to Arthur’s side as he gradually sat up.

Eames crouched beside Arthur’s chair and moved to wrap his arms around the smaller man. Arthur stiffened in his embrace and Eames saw a tear escape the man’s eye and burn a trail down his cheek. Eames leaned in to kiss Arthur’s cheek, but the point man turned his head. He settled for burying his face in Arthur’s neck.

He drew a breath to ask if Arthur was alright, but a loud noise averted his attention. Cobb had just entered the room from a door on the far side of the warehouse. He had been mid-stride, but stopped upon seeing that the two men were awake. He quickly closed his slightly opened mouth that had formed an “o” and set his features in a stern expression as he strode over to his colleagues.

“Eames, goddammit, what happened…”

“Not now,” Eames said, hand held up to Cobb's chest to signal the other man to not come any closer or say another word. He knew that they must have stayed under far longer than what Cobb had anticipated and even under the best circumstances the man didn't always keep his cool, but Eames wasn't concerned about Cobb's temper or anything else for that matter. He knew that something was wrong with Arthur. He could only hope that it was just the immediate shock over what had happened and that with some rest and time away from work that he would be fine. 

“I’m taking Arthur home, to his place, and I’m going to stay there with him. No calls. I’ll get in touch with you when he’s better,” Eames said sternly.

Cobb merely stared at Eames in shock, but he snapped his gaze to Arthur who was still sitting on his lawn chair, gazing around the room as though lost. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak, but quailed under Eames’ angry glare and closed it. He nodded like a man who realized that he’s no longer in control of a situation, but is desperate to appear as though he still has some authority. 

“Eames…” Arthur whimpered from his chair.

Eames whirled to see Arthur perched pitifully on the edge of his seat with his arms half-raised as though asking for the forger to pick him up. Eames shot Cobb one last furious look and turned to help Arthur up off the chair. 

He supported the point man by wrapping an arm around the younger man’s tiny waist while Arthur’s arm held loosely onto Eames’ broad shoulders. They shuffled to the door looking as though they were participating in a very somber three-legged race. Cobb stood rooted to the spot and watched as they made their way to the door.

“I’m taking you home, darling.” Cobb heard Eames say reassuringly and Arthur let out a single sob in response. 

oOo

For the next few weeks, Eames felt endlessly as though he were on pins and needles. He had taken Arthur back to his pristine apartment after making a stop to his hotel room to throw a few clothes and toiletries into a duffle bag.

Arthur spent most days in a near catatonic state. On active days, he would shuffle from room to room, touching books on the shelf or peering out the curtains onto the street below. He would award Eames’ questions and concerns with grunts and other non-committal noises. On a few lucky days he would even respond with 'yes' or 'no' to questions. He eventually began speaking in whole sentences again, the first of which Eames would always remember. 

“The dream is collapsing,” Arthur had said quietly one night after Eames had wished him goodnight and told him “I love you”. Eames had been sitting perched on the bed, ready to get up and head to the couch when Arthur had spoken. He stared, mouth agape at Arthur before composing himself enough to reach up and cup the point man’s cheek, but Arthur rolled over and curled himself into a ball. Eames heaved a sigh and stood to return to the living room. He wished more than anything to share Arthur’s bed, but given the state the point man was in, he felt too guilty to even attempt it. 

He sighed sadly and flopped onto the couch. He fell asleep soon after in front of the TV, its brilliant glow reflected off the glass coffee table and the small red die that lay atop it, three white dots facing upwards.

oOo

Eames began to grow more and more worried about Arthur. He had broken his silence after a solid two months of only grunting and occasionally vocalizing himself. He was back to speaking, but it was still scarce and often it seemed as though he were only stating his thoughts out loud rather than trying to make conversation. 

He had also stopped shuffling about or remaining in one place for hours at a time, staring at nothing, but he had taken on new behaviors that frightened and unnerved Eames deeply.

He came home one day after heading to the store for only a few minutes to find Arthur sitting at the kitchen table with a butcher knife lying on the place mat. His slender fingers were dancing idly over the handle and blade as he slowly rolled it over in his hand. Eames was there by his side in an instant, setting down a coffee that he’d brought for the point man and took the knife out of Arthur’s hand. He kissed the side of Arthur’s head and shoulder while Arthur gazed at the wall, his head turned determinedly away while the back of his hand ghosted over his mouth.

On another occasion, Eames had become terribly upset upon finding a length of rope and a small ladder tucked away in Arthur’s closet. He yelled and stormed about the apartment, pacing the length of the living room as Arthur sat blank-faced on the couch, only his eyes which were tracking Eames’ pacing giving any indication that he noticed something going on. Eames eventually ran out of steam and stormed out of the apartment, rope still in hand so that Arthur didn’t do anything while he was away. He had already removed all sharp knives and sleeping medication from the apartment.

The worst, however, was when Eames was emptying the bathroom trash can one afternoon after he and Arthur had returned home from a dinner out with Ariadne and Yusuf. He was already upset, because Arthur had been especially cold to their friends. Once they had gotten back to the car Eames had begun grilling Arthur as to why he behaved in such a way and the younger man had only shrugged and said something about them not really being their friends, that he had created them from his mind. Eames’ anger vanished on spot and was replaced by deep worry and burning guilt. 

“Okay, Arthur,” he merely replied and started the car. The drove back in silence and Eames set about busying himself with cleaning to distract himself while Arthur just sat in the kitchen writing in his small journal where he used to take notes on different jobs. 

While Eames was dumping the contents of the trash can into a garbage bag he noticed a few blood-stained tissues which had been crammed towards the bottom tumble out. He pulled them out of the trash bag, disbelief and hurt splashed across his handsome face, as he counted three, four, five tissues, all stained maroon. Wrapped in the fifth was a razor blade. Eames held it in his hand and dug through the remnants of the trash can with the other until he found the remainder of a broken shaving razor. 

“No…” he whispered to himself. “No,” a little louder. “Fucking hell!” he yelled. He quickly grabbed the handful of the tissues, the broken razor, and the razor blade and stormed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen where Arthur was still hunched over his notebook, writing slow and lazy lines across its pages. 

“What the fuck is this!?” Eames yelled as he slammed the items in his hand onto Arthur’s notebook. Arthur peered up at him, but said nothing.

“Let me see your arms,” Eames said, his tone dangerous and low. Arthur jerked his head slightly to indicate refusal. “Show me your fucking arms now, Arthur,” Eames insisted. 

Arthur managed a stronger shake of the head, but Eames was already around the table reaching for him. 

Arthur fought to keep his arms under the table, pushed flat against the underside of the tabletop, but Eames was too strong for him. He ripped back the sleeves of Arthur’s sweater and swore loudly. The point man’s right arm was untouched, but his left was scattered with sinister looking red lines, some very faint and already disappearing, but a few that looked fresh and that were much deeper. One was still blossoming with tiny droplets of blood. 

Eames could feel that there were tears on his face, but he could do nothing for them. He had sunk to his knees, Arthur’s left arm still caught in between his strong hands. He looked up at Arthur, mouth trembling as he tried to find the right words. “Arthur…why?”

“Practice” Arthur said with a small shrug his shoulders. 

“Practice?” Eames asked aghast. 

“Come on, Eames, you know why. We’re still dreaming. We have to wake up. I hate his world. I knew we shouldn’t have created from memories, this is what happens when you do! It’s terrible and I want to go home. Tonight it should have been obvious to you, we were dining with our own projections!”

“Arthur…” Eames whispered, absolutely heartbroken. “No…Arthur, they were real. This,” he gestured at the air around him, “this is all real.” He placed a hand to his chest, near his heart. “This, this is real. And you," he placed his hand over Arthur’s heart, “this is real too. We’re not dreaming anymore, darling. We came back…” Eames broke off and just stared at Arthur who was giving him a look that suggested that he was actually taking Eames’ words into consideration. 

“How can you be so sure?” Arthur asked quietly. 

“I can just tell the difference. Try making something, Arthur. Try changing the layout of this room. You can’t do it, can you? Nor can I forge. And do you know why? Because this is real life.” 

Arthur turned to look out the window. “Real…” he said, just barely audible. 

“Yes, Arthur, yes,” Eames gasped, tears making his throat uncomfortably tight. Arthur gave a brief nod and Eames buried his face into Arthur’s lap and began crying. After some time, Arthur moved his hand to stroke Eames’ hair. Eames finally felt like Arthur was coming back.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of sexual content towards the end, but nothing explicit, so head's up!

It didn’t take long at all before Arthur’s apartment started to reflect the awakening of the point man. Although Eames had done his best to keep things in their proper place and to maintain cleanliness as best as he knew how, the change was almost drastic once Arthur began tidying up the place. The kitchen table was now cleared of all mail and random papers and everything on the counter was arranged again just as it had been when they’d first gotten back from the warehouse. The apartment still had the lingering smell of laundry detergent after Arthur had spent the most of one day washing and drying everything from sheets to clothes to towels. He spent another day striding from room to room with a roll of paper towels tucked under one arm and a bottle of glass cleaner in one hand as he attacked every surface that held dust and grime. 

All the while, Eames watched Arthur from behind a magazine or sometimes just outright stared at the point man, a brilliant smile playing upon his lips that made his cheeks ache and his eyes wrinkle. On one occasion as Arthur was headed towards the bathroom with a scrub brush and bottle of bathtub cleaner in hand when he suddenly stopped and turned towards Eames who was lounging on the couch and grinning in his direction. 

The point man threw Eames a dirty look and Eames felt his heart drop, his smile faltered. _Here it comes_ , he thought. _He’s about to confront you about the whole Limbo mess. Or he’s going to ask you why you’re still here. Oh god…_

Eames opened his mouth, an apology already on his tongue when Arthur spoke, “You know, if you’re going to live here you could at least vacuum the living room once in a while.” With that, he turned and marched to the bathroom to begin his assault on the tub. Eames stared after him, eyes wide with shock and mouth opened in surprise. Inside, he felt as though his heart had at long last restarted and that the heaviness that had settled itself comfortably in his midsection had finally vanished. 

“Right you are, darling!” Eames called after him, regaining his composure as he sprang up from the couch. As he headed to the closet to retrieve the vacuum he couldn’t help but let himself fall a little more in love.

oOo

It had been two weeks since Arthur’s recovery, but Eames was still sleeping on the couch. He was determined to let Arthur call the shots and if Arthur had wanted him to sleep in the bathtub or sitting upright at the kitchen table he would have. 

Eames had even refrained from initiating physical contact of any kind. He hated feeling as though he needed to ask permission to hold Arthur or to kiss him, but for once in his life he didn’t want to take a gamble. 

Deep down part of him was afraid that if he did try to touch Arthur that he’d be rewarded with a punch in the face as he wasn’t sure if Arthur considered what had happened in Limbo to be something tangible enough to be carried into the real world; that although they had been together for so long down there that Arthur might dismiss the entire thing. It was, after all, only a dream. There was also the possibility that Arthur might not remember any of it. That he would only vaguely recall building structures with Eames, but nothing beyond that until the time in which they laid in front of the train together. 

Eames tried not to think of these possibilities, but the longer he forced himself to put space between them the more upset he became. He loved Arthur, loved him like he’d never loved anyone or anything before in his life. He’d had relationships before, if you could really call them that, but it had never been anything like this. Men and women alike would confess that they loved the forger, but he could never bring himself to reciprocate those affections. Although he was many things, he prided himself on being honest when it mattered most. 

_Except when it comes to tricking the man you love into possibly losing his mind, right?_ Eames' brain supplied helpfully. He had been composing himself in the bathroom, knuckles white as he clenched the sink and stared into the mirror trying to will himself to control his emotions as if they were a forge in their own right, when the thought crept back into his mind. _You used him, you manipulated him. You think he'll ever want to even be in the same room as you ever again, let alone have you touch him?_ He hung his head and felt his body shudder with the promise of another crying fit. 

_I will tell him the truth. I swear it. Now's just not the right time. He just came back. I have to make sure that he’s okay. That he’d be okay on his own in case he decides that he doesn’t want to see me ever again_ , Eames thought, an overwhelming sadness blooming in his chest.

A knock on the door interrupted his inner monologue. 

“Eames?” asked Arthur, concern lacing his voice as he knocked again gently. 

“Y-yes, love?” Eames choked out, trying to mask his voice as best he could with false bravado. 

“Are you alright? You’ve been locked in there for a while now. Are you sick?” Arthur asked and Eames could tell that Arthur had moved closer to the door, almost pressed against it.

“No, no I’m fine. I just…I dunno,” he finished lamely. 

“Why don’t you come out, then?” Arthur asked kindly, almost like a parent coaxing their child to come socialize with friends.

“Alright, darling... Just a moment,” Eames replied. He turned on the taps and quickly splashed some water across his red face. He toweled off quickly and took a moment to appraise his appearance in the mirror. His face was still a little swollen from the crying that had initially landed him stuck in the bathroom for an hour, trying his best to remain quiet about it, but he decided to face Arthur anyway. 

He opened the door slowly and found Arthur, just as he pictured, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes downcast and face pressed against the woodwork. His eyes quickly darted up to Eames’ face, which was trying to come across as cheery, but Arthur saw something like sorrow flickering in those brilliant blue grey eyes. 

“Eames…” he sighed, his hand reaching up to touch the forger’s cheek. 

“I’m fine, darling. Really,” Eames said, trying to sound reassuring. Arthur was not convinced.

“Eames, something’s wrong. Just tell me,” Arthur said, almost pleading.

“ ‘S’nothing. Bit silly, really,” Eames said as he attempted to weasel his way out of Arthur’s grasp, but the point man blocked his path and stood his ground.

“William,” he said, a slight hiss in his voice that made Eames flinch. “Clearly something is bothering you, now tell me what it is.”

“I…Arthur, really, it’s no concern of yours. It’s my business,” Eames said, hating to be so informal with Arthur, but feeling as though it were the only way to get out of this conversation.

“None of my concern?” Arthur asked, his hand pulling back from Eames’ face. 

“That’s right, Arthur,” Eames said, venom wrapped around the name in a half-hearted way. He managed to side-step the smaller man and began heading for the living room. He intended to grab his coat and be out the door. He felt like he needed to give them even more space, but deep down he knew that he just wanted to run away from all of this. Better Arthur be heartbroken over Eames living up to his reputation than to find out the truth.

“Dammit, Eames! It is of my concern! I’m your fucking significant other, aren’t I?” Arthur said, his voice trembling slightly from frustration.

Of all the things Eames had expected to hear Arthur say it had not been that. He turned to face Arthur like a drunk man, his arms seeming to have lost all feeling and shock written on his face.

“I…wha?” he stammered.

“We’re…we are together, aren’t we?” Arthur asked, deflating some. 

“Well…well, yeah” Eames said, still somewhat off-guard. “I just didn’t think…” he let the sentence hang in the air.

“You didn’t think what?” Arthur asked, moving from the bathroom doorway over closer to where Eames was standing at the end of the hallway.

“I didn’t think…” Eames gulped. “I didn’t think you’d still want to be with me once we came back…I thought you might have attributed it all to it being a dream or…or that you might have not remembered…”

Arthur was now in front of Eames, hurt creasing his forehead. “Eames…” he whispered. Eames kept his gaze fixed on the hardwood flooring. “Eames…” Arthur whispered again, moving in closer to the forger. His arms snaked their way up Eames’ chest and over his shoulders until his hands held the older man’s face, pulling him up gently to meet his eyes.

“I’m still not really sure about some things, but I do know what whatever world this is that I’m in that I love you. I...I always have. Ever since we met, all those years ago… Something would burn inside me when I felt your eyes on me. I found myself thinking about you constantly. If I was away from you I’d wonder how your day was going and whether or not you were alright. I found myself taking mental notes over everything about you. I told myself it was just natural, I’m a point man, that’s my job. I take notes on people and do research. But I started to realize that I didn’t know what Ariadne’s favorite book was or that I wasn’t replaying conversations I had with Cobb over in my head hours after we’d finished talking. I don’t know what kind of weather makes Mal happy or what Yusuf’s favorite ice cream flavor is...” Arthur broke off, licking his bottom lip as he drew his next breath. Eames darned not speak, this was the most Arthur had spoken in months and he was not about to spoil it by saying something stupid or trying to be witty. “Do you remember when you asked me to marry you?” Arthur asked, his fingertips caressing Eames’ cheek lovingly. 

“Of course I do,” Eames breathed.

“You said you had a dream…” 

“That we’d grow old together,” Eames finished and Arthur nodded, staring deep into the forger’s eyes. 

“I meant what I said, you know. I know we were in the dream state when I said it, when I said yes that is, but I really did mean it, Eames. I…I fought this thing for as long as I possibly could stand it. I would try so hard to tell myself that you were no good, that if we ever did end up together that you would leave me or cheat on me. That’d I’d be too jealous and possessive over you whenever someone else had their eyes on you. I found every flaw that you have and I kept telling them to myself over and over again, but it…it didn’t matter. I still loved you.” Arthur broke off and sighed deeply. 

He stepped back from Eames and dropped his arms to his sides. “I’m going to bed,” he said heavily. 

“Alright. G’night, darling,” Eames responded dejectedly and turned to head back for the couch. He had only taken one step when he felt Arthur’s hand slide into his own and take hold of it firmly. He turned quickly to see Arthur staring at him with a determined look on his face. 

“I want you to come with me. I…I miss you holding me at night.” He left it at that, but Eames knew that Arthur was being incredibly vulnerable with him right now. 

“You sure?” he asked quietly. “I don’t mind the couch, really, love. Are you…you're absolutely certain?” Eames asked softly. 

Arthur only nodded and moved in to close the space between them, cautiously sealing their lips together. Eames gasped into the kiss, their first topside which, simple as it was, overshadowed the hundreds they'd exchanged in the dream. Arthur’s hands found Eames’ face again as the forger’s own came to rest on the back of Arthur’s neck, softly stroking the hair there.

Eames guided them blindly into the bedroom and gently lowered them onto the bed, taking caution to not rest completely on top of Arthur so as to avoid crushing him. There was nothing hurried or impatient about their kiss, just the two of them taking the time to explore one another, each other’s hands roaming over the other, trying to recommit one another to a memory that would truly last. 

They continued on like that until they were both too breathless and their lips too swollen. Eames rolled off of Arthur and moved to envelope him from the side, wrapping the younger man in his strong arms. He kissed the top of Arthur’s head as the point man’s eyes slid closed and a happy sigh escaped his lips. 

“I love you too, darling,” Eames whispered, realizing he hadn't said it back until now.

“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames,” Arthur breathed and soon after they were both falling into sleep, smiles on both their lips. 

oOo

The next morning Eames woke up confused because he didn’t feel the familiar material of the couch beneath him. He also felt a warm weight pressed against his side which was definitely not a blanket or pillow. He opened his eyes slowly and looked around to see the grey walls of Arthur’s bedroom. He looked down to see the top of Arthur’s head and the younger man wrapped around his side with an arm flopped across Eames’ stomach. Eames broke into a brilliant grin and moved to wrap an arm around Arthur’s narrow shoulders and draw him closer. Arthur stirred for a moment, but then shifted and relaxed back into his previous position, only this time pressed a little closer to the forger’s body. 

Eames craned his neck to check the bedside clock and found that it was only seven in the morning. He dropped his head back onto the pillow and sighed happily again as he closed his eyes and returned back to sleep. 

oOo 

It struck Eames later in the day as he was watching Arthur prepare dinner for them that he should probably get back in touch with Cobb. Although part of him was still upset over the whole ordeal, he figured it was silly to continue to hold a grudge against his friend now that Arthur was doing better. He was, after all, guilty in his own right and couldn't justify putting all the blame on Cobb. 

They ate dinner together at the dining room table and Eames felt like he was having an out of body experience. They were sitting across from one another, enjoying a fantastic meal and making conversation almost like it was an involuntary function to them. Arthur smiled at him from across the table in between bites while his feet nuzzled Eames’ ankles the entire time. 

When they were finished, Arthur insisted on cleaning the dishes himself and ordered Eames to the living room so that he couldn’t help. Eames shook his head, but was smiling nevertheless. He retreated to the study where he decided to give Cobb a call, hoping that it wasn’t too late and that he wouldn’t disturb the household.

The phone only rang once before Eames was greeted with a frazzled sounding Cobb on the other end. 

“Eames? Is it Arthur? Did he… Is he alright?” he spoke almost frantically before Eames could so much as get in a 'hello'.

“Woah, Dom, take it easy there, mate. Arthur is fine. He’s great actually. Spectacular,” Eames said as he leaned back in his chair where he could see Arthur bustling about over the sink, scrubbing dishes and donning an apron. Eames grinned and dropped his chair back. 

“Oh…I thought… Never mind. So Arthur’s alright?” Dom stammered.

“Yes, Arthur is just fine. For a while there I didn’t think…but he’s better now. Anyway, Dom, I was just calling to let you know how he’s doing. I don’t think we’ll be back in the field for a little while, though. Just to be safe, you know.”

“No, no, absolutely, take as much time as you need, Eames. Mal and I will work something out and we’ll still pay you both,” Cobb said in a rush.

“That’s very kind of you, Dom,” Eames replied. Although he didn’t like the thought of taking money without doing any work, part of him felt like Cobb at least owed Arthur something for going through what he had. Eames was more than willing to give Arthur his share as well. 

“Good,” Cobb replied. A moment of silence passed between them and Eames wasn’t really sure what else to say. He was about to wrap things up and get off the phone so that he could venture into the kitchen, probably only to have dish towel thrown at his face, when Cobb spoke again.

“So, Eames, listen… I wanted to ask you about something,” Cobb said, his voice finally taking on its old professionalism.

“Alright, I'm listening,” Eames responded, already foreseeing what was coming.

“Are you and Arthur…you know, together now?” Cobb asked, slight embarrassment prevalent in his voice. 

“I’m afraid so,” Eames huffed, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Ah.” 

“Is that… going to be a problem?” Eames asked, a playful tone to his voice. He knew that Cobb would sooner sell his children than give up his two best employees.

“Of course not. I was just curious. I mean, we’ve all sort of been wondering…” Cobb trailed off.

“Have you now?” Eames chuckled.

“Well, it was pretty obvious,” Cobb offered a small laugh. “So, how are things going with you two, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Things are…god, Dom, they’re better than anything I could have ever imagined. Or dreamed for that matter,” he added on. “It took a little while, mind you. He was pretty out of it for a while. But as of recently we’ve gotten closer. He lets me sleep in his bed, anyway.”

“I see. So, how are things, bedroom-wise, that is?” 

_Cobb, you sly old bastard, you_ , Eames thought.

“Well, we haven’t actually gotten quite there yet. I’m letting him call the shots. Knowing Arthur, it will have to be after some magnificent display of romance and probably an expensive dinner.”

Cobb chuckled from the other end. 

“Well, when’s your anniversary?” he asked.

Eames had asked Arthur the same thing earlier and they decided that it would be the first day they met. They couldn’t judge it from Limbo, because aside from the strange way that time moved down there, they hadn’t even bothered to keep a proper calendar and they had certainly not thought to check it on the day when they finally decided to be together. 

For both of them, somewhere in the back of their minds, it had been a fact when they first met that one day they would end up together. Coincidentally, that day was fast approaching. 

“It’s next week, actually,” Eames replied, excitement building inside of him.

“Wow, that soon, huh?” Cobb said. Eames could tell his mind was already clicking away thinking up some idea, that’s just how Cobb operated. “Alright, I think I’ve got something. This is just a suggestion, bear in mind, but I know this one place…it’s a rather upscale hotel here in the city. Mal and I stayed there one night after we decided we had too many drinks. This was before James and Phillipa, mind you. It was a bit pricey, but Mal loved it so much, I couldn’t refuse. You could take Arthur there. I’m sure he’d love it. They’ve got a great restaurant downstairs and every night there’s a live orchestra and everything. And the rooms…you’d just have to see them.” Cobb broke off, probably drifting back to that blessed night that Eames would probably rather not know all the details of.

“It sounds wonderful. Send us the name of the place and I’ll go check it out; see if it’s up to Arthur’s standards,” Eames said, reaching inside the desk drawer to pull out a notepad and pen. 

Cobb told him the name and address of the hotel and assured him once more that Arthur would absolutely love it. 

A few minutes later Eames bid Cobb a pleasant goodbye and hung up his mobile. He felt a little more relaxed now that he had cleared the air a bit between himself and Cobb. He stalked quietly into the kitchen to find Arthur drying dishes with a towel. He snuck up behind the point man and covered his eyes with his hands. 

“Eames!” Arthur gasped. 

“That’s right, love,” Eames murmured and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s ear. Arthur relaxed and sank back into the forger’s chest. 

“I’ve got a surprise for you, darling,” Eames whispered huskily into Arthur’s ear. He felt the younger man shiver. 

“Oh?” he asked, the dish in his hands momentarily forgotten as Arthur gazed at Eames over his shoulder. 

“Mhm. But you’ll have to wait until next week to find out,” Eames said, loving the way Arthur shifted his body against him in impatience. He knew how it irked the point man to be kept in the dark. 

“Eames…” he moaned, a pout forming on his face. 

“Ah, ah, love. Be a good boy and you shall be rewarded,” Eames chided him. 

Arthur groaned again and pressed himself back against the older man. Eames slid his hands to hold Arthur’s hips as he gently pressed them both into the counter. With one hand he firmly held Arthur’s hip as the other began making its way over the smaller man’s chest. He nipped lightly at Arthur’s neck, eliciting delicious moans from the other man’s mouth. Arthur’s hand that was not clamped on the edge of the sink covered Eames’ to guide it lower so that he could feel the hardness pressing against his pants, all while grinded himself back into the older man. Eames pawed Arthur through the soft material of his pants and began running his tongue over the pale skin of Arthur’s neck as he moved back to his ear and breathed raggedly against it while he slowly moved his hips forward to creation more friction between them. 

“Eames…” Arthur moaned and Eames suddenly felt like he’d received a kick too early. His eyes snapped open and he took a moment to drink Arthur in, the way his eyes seemed to be pleading with him and how white his hand was that was holding onto the kitchen counter for dear life, the plate and towel he'd been holding lay forgotten on its surface.

The forger suppressed the urge take this any further and instead slid away from him, placing one last kiss on his neck.

“Goodnight, darling!” he called as he strolled out of the kitchen and headed to the bedroom. He heard Arthur curse under his breath and smiled to himself. He felt bad for teasing him in such a way, but he would make it up to him next week.


	10. Chapter Nine

It was three days before their anniversary and Eames had everything set up. It had been a bit last minute to get a reservation at the hotel, but he was able to charm the receptionist into getting them a nice suite up on the seventh floor. He headed out early to go check out the room and make absolute positive that it would be good enough for his Arthur. 

He stepped out of the elevator and onto the seventh floor. The hallway itself was beautiful: marble floors covered by a strip of posh carpeting. A piece of artwork was hung between each room and the doors were made from the finest of wood. Eames let out a low whistle as he strolled down the hall until he came to their room. He slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open slowly.

He was greeted with a breathtaking sight. From the outside the room didn’t appear as though it could be that big, but it was, extravagantly so. The space into which Eames stepped was comprised of the sitting area alone. The walls were an off white and the carpet a deep cream. All of the furnishings were simple and to the point, just how Arthur liked them. He noticed that the living room area had a large window that looked out to the other side of the hotel with a street view down below. He set his key down on an end table by the door before proceeding. 

The entire suite compromised itself of a kitchenette which had immaculate tile flooring and a small breakfast nook complete with a refrigerator, microwave, and even a small oven. He smiled to himself and shook his head as he made his way into the bedroom. The bed was a king, naturally, and the canopy that enclosed it was awe-inspiring with its soft curtains hanging down in a graceful sort of way. The frame, which felt like real wood under Eames' hand, was black and perfectly posh. The sheets were pure white and of the highest thread count known to man. Eames pressed a hand to the mattress and a small moan escaped his lips as it felt alluringly comfortable beneath his palm. The rest of the room contained more simple, but still elegant furniture with a nightstand on either side of the bed and a long couch across the room that Eames couldn't help but wonder how Arthur would looked stretched across, naked. 

Off the bedroom Eames found the most stunning bathroom he'd ever seen. Almost everything was golden marble and there were even two tall Victorian looking candelabras positioned at each of the a large Jacuzzi-style bathtub that Eames felt sure could accommodate two people easily. A large shower space closed off by glass doors gave Eames' imagination even more to room to run wild. 

He walked back through the entire suite once more, making sure that there wasn’t anything missing that he thought Arthur would want, but could find nothing to add. He gathered up his key and headed out the door again, anxious to get back home to Arthur so that he could gush about the place, but refuse to share any intimate details just to vex his beloved. 

oOo

The following day Eames woke before Arthur for a change. He realized it would still be a few hours before the point man would wake up, but was too excited to go back to sleep, so instead he set about making breakfast for both of them. 

Arthur woke up a few hours later to several different smells wafting in from the kitchen, the scent of something burned beyond recognition being prominent among them. He flipped back the covers and slid out of bed, grabbing his phone off the nightstand as he went in case he needed to call the fire department. Once in the hallway, the smell was almost overpowering, but seeing as how the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off yet, he assumed Eames hadn’t completely destroyed their kitchen. 

He found the forger in a right state, quickly striding about the kitchen in a tacky yellow apron moving from counter to counter to check on various messes. His hair was sticking out in several different directions and there were strains all over the sleeves of his sweatshirt. 

“Eames, what on earth are you doing?” Arthur asked, exasperated, but too amused to sound truly upset. 

Eames whirled around, a sheepish grin on his face. There were traces of powder on his cheeks and what looked like pancake syrup in the front on his hair, making it stand up almost as though he had gelled it that way. 

“Morning, Arthur!” he said robustly. Arthur remained silent, but crossed his arms over his chest and gave the kitchen a disapproving look. Eames followed his gaze. “Er, right… The kitchen is a bit of a mess, yeah? But I swear I’ll clean it all up and you won’t even have to lift a pretty finger. I’ll have this place back in order and even your sharp eye won’t be able to tell the difference. I uh…made you some breakfast?” he broke off, looking around to see if there was anything salvageable in the wreckage. 

“Eames…”

“Right, darling. Okay. I’ll clean this up and then we can go out for breakfast, how about that?” Eames asked.

“Eames, how about you just go get us something from the nice bakery a few blocks down and I’ll clean this up?” Arthur countered. Eames opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur was having none of it. “Please, Eames. If I let you clean this up I’m only going to drive the both of us crazy because you and I both know you can’t clean worth a shit and I’ll only be picking up after you and calling out orders from over your shoulder. You take care of getting us some breakfast and I’ll repair the damage.”

Eames tried to argue a few more times, but eventually Arthur broke him down so he set off to the bakery. It didn’t take Arthur very long at all to restore the kitchen so he set about trying to occupy himself until Eames came back with their food. 

Eames returned half an hour later with a giant brown paper bag tucked under one arm and a cup of coffee in each hand. He set the load down on the breakfast table and went to find Arthur. 

He couldn’t find the point man in the living room or the study. The bathroom was unoccupied as well so that left only the bedroom. Perhaps Arthur had decided to crawl back into bed, exhausted after scrubbing down the kitchen, Eames reasoned. 

Eames entered the bedroom and was relieved to find Arthur dozing underneath the sheets. He was about to close the door and let him get a little more rest when he noticed something that made his pulse speed up and his heart plummet: Lying next to Arthur, almost hidden by the comforter, was a PASIV device that was opened and quietly humming away, one of its IVs strung from the case and straight into Arthur’s arm. 

Eames cursed and rushed forward to the bed. There was only a minute left on the clock, so Eames waited, pacing the room and running a hand through his hair furiously 

After the longest minute of Eames' life, the PASIV beeped and Arthur’s eyes slowly opened. 

“Arthur, goddammit!” Eames spat out more harshly than he'd intended. Arthur jumped and sat up hastily, pulling the IV from his arm and tossing it back into the case unceremoniously. He snapped the PASIV shut with a swift click and pushed it further under the covers, as though by doing so that Eames would think he was mistaken about what he'd just witnessed. 

“Arthur, I’m not fucking stupid, I know what you were doing. What I want to know is why. Why, Arthur? I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t even go near one of those damned things until you were completely better and when I or someone else was with you,” Eames said, trying his best to keep his voice under control.

“I thought I was better…” Arthur responded, his hands twisting in the sheets as he spoke to his lap. 

“And you are, but Arthur, it wasn’t that long ago. I was thinking more along the lines of a year…We agreed on that, remember? You've been seeing some therapists and we've been working it out, but we all agreed a year would be best. After a year we’d see how you were doing and if you weren’t ready then, we’d just wait. And hell, if you were never ready to go back in that would have been fine. We could have found other work to do, you know that Arthur. What were you trying to prove?” Eames asked, his voice laced with hurt.

“I…I wanted to surprise you. I thought it would be nice, after all you’ve done for me, especially in these past few days. I wanted to give something back to you. If you knew that I was ready to go back into the field. I know how much you love it, so don’t even bother to deny that it. I know you’re not going to go back unless I do. I just wanted to give you something...” Arthur broke off and began crying in a way that broke Eames’ heart. 

His anger forgotten, he went over to the bed and knelt by Arthur’s side, taking one of the point man’s hands in his own. He rubbed his thumb over Arthur’s hand as his other stroked the side of Arthur’s face, fingers brushing away the tears rolling down his cheek. 

“Oh, Arthur…” he sighed. “Darling, you didn’t have to… How are you feeling? Are you alright?” They could address Arthur’s actions later, but right now Eames’ biggest concern was whether or not Arthur was about to slip into another catatonic spell. 

“Yeah, ‘malright” the younger man mumbled. 

“No creeping doubts? Anything like that?” Eames asked.

“No. I…I’m fine. I’m going to take a shower, okay?” Arthur said as he moved suddenly to exit the bed. 

“Al…alright. Arthur?” 

“Yes, Eames?” Arthur asked, his hand already on the bathroom door.

“If you take longer than fifteen minutes, I’m coming in there,” Eames said as he gave Arthur a serious look. Eames knew that the last thing he'd want to do, especially after all that Arthur had told him, would be to break in while Arthur was in the shower, but he wasn't willing to take a chance. 

Arthur said nothing, but gave a nod to indicate that he understood perfectly what Eames meant and he stepped into the other room. 

He listened to see if Arthur would even bother locking the door at all, but only picked up on the sounds of clothes hitting the bathroom floor and then the water turning on. He sighed heavily and picked himself up off the floor. He ripped back the covers and picked up the PASIV by the handle. He thought for a moment about opening the window and chucking the damn thing out, but thought better of it and tucked it into the very back of their closet instead. He covered it with a mound of clothing and tried not to slam the door.

He hated that he had been so stern with Arthur, but he would rather coddle the man than pretend like Arthur’s previous suicidal behaviors hadn’t existed and wind up finding him dead in the bath with as many major arteries cut as he could get to before passing out. 

After ten minutes, Arthur was out of the shower and Eames breathed a sigh of relief. He watched the point man carefully as he picked out an outfit from his dresser. 

“You don’t have to track my every move, you know,” Arthur huffed as the pulled a shirt out of the top drawer. 

“Right…” Eames said and jumped from where he was sitting on the bed. “I’ll just be in the living room, yeah?” he said as he lingered in the doorway and watched as Arthur pulled out a pair of pants. 

“Mmm,” Arthur murmured agreement. Eames nodded and headed to the couch. As far as he could tell, Arthur was perfectly alright. A bit upset, but that was probably his own fault. He seemed a little disoriented upon first waking, but then again, that could have just been because it had been a little while since he had gone under and not because he was mixing up the world of the dream and what was real again. 

Eames remained on the couch as Arthur moved about their room. From the sound of it, he was putting clothes and other things into a suitcase. For a moment Eames felt his heart speed up, but then he remembered that they were headed to the hotel later and that Arthur was just packing for that. He himself hadn’t even started, so he decided to chance heading back to the bedroom. 

“Just here to pack my suitcase, love,” he said as he entered the room with his hands held up. Arthur nodded and turned back to the dresser to pull out a few more things. It took everything Eames had to not keep glancing over at Arthur as he skillfully sorted the items in his suitcase to lay side by side perfectly. He wanted to reach out to him, to ask him about where he'd gone in the dream. Had he built more memories or new, impossible buildings he was so fond of imagining? Had he returned to the playground, still carrying the weight of his past beyond what he insisted to Eames and to his therapists? Eames didn't know and found himself, shamefully, too afraid to ask. 

They finished at the same time even though Arthur had gotten a head start. He had taken the time to neatly fold and arrange everything whereas Eames had just tossed items in and forced it all to remain compressed enough so that he could zipper the bag closed. 

Arthur gave Eames’ bag a reproving look, but didn’t say anything against it. Eames shot him an apologetic look. 

“Listen, Arthur…if you don’t want to do this anymore, that’s perfectly alright with me. I can just call them up real quick and cancel…” Eames began, but Arthur cut him off.

He strode over to the side of the bed that Eames was standing next to and looked him hard in the eye. “Eames, of course I still want to do this. I’m…listen, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to be the one skulking around like a kicked puppy. I did wrong and I’m sorry. I just got a little defensive. I don’t like feeling incapable, especially over something that used to be second nature to me. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

“I…well…” Eames stammered.

“Don’t talk, Mr. Eames. Let’s go see this wonderful hotel you can’t stop not telling me about,” Arthur said and punctuated it with a kiss. 

“Right you are, Arthur,” Eames said, a familiar grin on his face as he grabbed his bag and picked up Arthur’s from the bed. “I’ll get these if you’ll get the door.” 

oOo

They arrived at the hotel an hour later. A bellhop took their bags from them and the desk clerk slid Eames a small envelop with their rooms keys to him with a smile as she gazed at the couple. Eames slid an arm around Arthur’s waist and guided him to the elevator. They rode up together in a comfortable silence, Arthur taking the opportunity of the elevator being unoccupied by anyone else but themselves to lean his head back and rest it on Eames’ shoulder. Eames placed a kiss to the top of his head and hugged him tighter.

Once they reached the seventh floor Arthur planted a quick kiss on the forger’s lips as the doors slid open. He pulled away from Eames and grabbed his hand to pull him out into the hallway. Eames could tell by the way that Arthur’s eyebrows shot up and the set of his mouth that he was already highly impressed with the hotel.

“Just wait until you see the room, my sweet,” Eames cooed into Arthur’s ear. He managed to get Arthur to close his eyes before taking him by the hand and unlocking the door. 

He pulled Arthur inside and instructed him to remain still. He closed the door with one foot and crept up behind Arthur to cover his eyes with his large hands. 

“Eames, my eyes are already closed, do you really think…”

“Shh, love. Now, on the count of three I want you to open them, yeah?” Eames whispered in his ear. Arthur nodded. 

“Excellent. One… Two... Three!” He pulled back his hands and heard Arthur gasp loudly. 

“Do you like it, darling?” Eames breathed into his hair as he wrapped his arms around the smaller man. 

“Eames…it’s…god, thank you.” Arthur seemed like he wanted to say more, but Eames understood. He turned Arthur around slowly and gave him a radiant smile. There were actual tears running down Arthur’s face. Eames brushed them away as Arthur pulled the forger forward by the back of his neck until their lips met. 

Arthur threaded his hands in Eames’ hair and pushed their bodies together. Eames’ hands roamed Arthur’s face as he sucked on the point man’s lower lip. He broke the kiss to tilt Arthur’s head back so he could leave a trail of sloppy, wet kisses down his jaw and to his neck as the younger man squirmed and moaned underneath his touch. 

Eames knew if they kept this up that they’d probably rush into messy, hurried sex that would be over far too quickly and tonight he wanted everything to be special, particularly for Arthur. He pulled back from his companion who made let out a small whine of protest at the loss of contact.

“Sorry, love, but if we keep this up we’ll never make it to dinner and not to be that guy, but those reservations were not east to come by,” Eames said, trying to regain normal breathing.

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair to put it back in place. “You’re right. Okay, let me freshen up and we can head out.”

“Sure thing, darling,” Eames replied, glad to see that Arthur wasn't too disappointed. They exchanged a smile as Arthur headed to the bathroom. 

Eames sauntered over to the window and looked out onto the street below. _Tonight is going to be a very good night_ , he thought to himself.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is it, folks! As a word of caution, there is explicit sexual content in this chapter, as well as suicidal behavior so be warned.

The dinner went fantastically. Eames had picked one of Arthur’s favorite restaurants in the city and had ordered them the nicest wine there. The conversation flowed easily as they enjoyed their delicious meal together. Eames would find himself losing track of the conversation as his mind was preoccupied by the color in Arthur’s cheeks and the sparkle in his eye as he talked animatedly. He had never seen him so completely present, so alive. He felt, for a change, as though maybe things really would be okay. 

When they finished they took a cab back to the hotel, all the while Arthur allowed Eames to intertwine their hands together. Both men stared out their opposite window, but held small smiles which threatened to become broad grins as their thumbs traced the canvas of the other’s hand. 

Once they arrived back at the hotel Eames began exploring the place while Arthur watched him from the couch with an affectionate look in his eyes as the forger flicked different switches seeing what they did and opened various cabinets to view their contents.

At one point Eames uncovered a flat screen television connected to a nice, but still modestly sized speaker system. He found a small remote in a desk drawer and clicked the on button. He chuckled approvingly as an image of a fireplace appeared on the screen. 

“Arthur, would you get a load of this. They’ve actually got that channel that’s nothing but logs burning in a fireplace. Where’s the sound, I bet you can hear the crackling and everything.” Eames examined the remote and pressed different buttons as Arthur shook his head and laughed quietly. After a few moments the sound of a roaring fire greeted their ears and Eames turned to Arthur with a devilish grin. 

“It doesn’t take much to impress you, does it, Eames?” Arthur laughed. 

“Not at all, darling. Why else do you think I’m with you?” Eames joked. 

“Oh, Mr. Eames. You wound me!” Arthur cried theatrically as he placed a hand over his heart. 

“You cheeky little bastard, you…” Eames muttered as he turned back to the television. He fumbled around with the remote some more as Arthur sat and watched him. Finally, slow music began to mingle with the sound of the crackling fire.

“How did you do that?” Arthur asked, sitting up a little on the couch.

“Magic, darling.” Arthur gave him a look. “Alright, there was a radio setting on that thing. I put on the romance station,” Eames said, looking pleased with himself. Arthur rolled his eyes a bit as Eames moved towards the couch.

He stood in front of the point man and offered his hand. 

“Eames, what are you…”

“Dance with me, Arthur. Please?” Eames asked quietly. 

“Eames, I…I’m not very good at it,” Arthur mumbled. 

“It doesn’t matter to me, love. I’m not going to be scoring you on it. I don’t care if you step all over my feet, I just want to dance with you. Just this once?” Eames pleaded.

“Alright. But just this once,” Arthur huffed as he took Eames’ hand. 

Eames led, or attempted to, as they swayed through the room. Arthur breathed apologies into Eames’ neck as he kept stepping on his toes and banging into furniture. After a little coaxing for Arthur to relax control and let him lead, Eames steered them into a more graceful rhythm. 

“See, darling, you _are_ a good dancer. You just needed the proper partner,” Eames chuckled. 

Arthur responded by letting out a noise not unlike a purr and pressed himself closer to Eames, letting his head rest on the forger’s chest. 

“…you,” Arthur whispered sleepily. 

“Sorry, love I didn’t quite catch that?” 

“I love you,” Arthur repeated as he nuzzled his face against the rough material of Eames’ dinner jacket. 

“Mmm,” Eames hummed. “I love you too, Arthur.” He placed a kiss on the top of the point man’s head and brought them to a stop. “Are you all tuckered out, darling?” he asked as he tilted Arthur’s face up to his. 

“I’m a little tired, but I’m not quite ready for sleep just yet.” A blush crept up Arthur’s neck and made its way onto his face. He averted his eyes to the carpet and bit his lip. Eames cupped Arthur’s face and turned it back towards him. 

“Darling, do you…”

“I want to, Eames. Please?” Arthur said, trembling slightly as though he had just gotten in from the cold. 

“Of course,” Eames replied breathlessly as he pulled Arthur to him, their lips locking together perfectly. 

They broke apart slowly, taking their time. Eames threaded his fingers through Arthur’s hair, eliciting a small moan from the other man. Arthur leaned in closer and began exploring Eames’ neck with his mouth. Eames hands slid down Arthur’s back as he let out a pleased sigh. 

“God, Eames…I’ve wanted this for so long now,” Arthur breathed into his neck. Eames tried to suppress a shudder, but failed miserably. Arthur smiled against his skin at the reaction he was responsible for. 

Arthur pulled back from Eames to look the forger in the eye. “I love you, Eames. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. Despite how hard I try, I know I’m not perfect, but that’s never mattered to you. I honestly didn’t think that anyone would ever want to be with me, not after finding out about my past. And, despite the fact that you get under my skin, you’ve still treated me better than any man I’ve ever known. You’ve given me all of this,” Arthur gestured to the room, “and now I want to give you something in return.” 

He slid a cool hand to the back of Eames’ neck and drew the larger man forward, bringing their lips together in a gentle, yet powerful kiss. When they broke apart, Arthur took Eames’ hand and tugged him forward, out of the living area and into the bedroom.

Upon entering Arthur wasted no time in removing both of their clothing. Eames obliged Arthur’s silent requests to raise his arms so that his undershirt could be removed while he attended to his shoes and socks so that the point man could dispose of his pants for him. 

Arthur left him stripped down to just his underwear as he began working on his own clothing. Eames watched, unable to do more than stand in awe of what was about to happen. Sure, they had been together in the Limbo, but this was real life. And Arthur was being so vulnerable with him right now… It made the guilt he’d carried around for months now clamp an iron fist around his insides. Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out a hand to stop Arthur’s quick fingers from undoing the last buttons of his dress shirt. 

Arthur, mistaking the movement for Eames’ wish to undo them himself, let his arm drop to the side as he favored the older man with a sultry look. 

“Arthur, listen, there’s…there's something I feel as though I should tell you...”

“Alright,” Arthur responded, still looking at Eames in an almost unbearably coy fashion.

“It’s about what happened…in Limbo. The whole thing. It was…god, how do I say this? Arthur, the whole thing…”

“Eames, stop. What happened then is behind us now. I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? If you still feel like you need to tell me whatever it is that you feel like sharing, then I’ll listen, but right now I want us to forget the rest of the world for a little while, okay?” Arthur pleaded, his hand stroking the side of Eames’ face lovingly. 

Eames heaved a heavy sigh and nodded. He figured he had already passed the point of hating himself for this wicked deed a long time ago and to be fair, he had tried. Sure, he could have pushed it further and refused Arthur, but he knew better than to challenge him. When Arthur Callahan wanted something, specifically when he didn’t want to hear or do something, he became very forceful in standing his ground. Eames had once seen Arthur shoot a man in the shin for demanding that he come onto his team as point man. The man was about as corrupt as they come, although Arthur wasn’t to know that until their meeting. Arthur had refused point blank to work for him after realizing what scum he was, but the man, who fancied himself powerful and unchallenged, kept pressing the matter, insisting that Arthur would work for him or be heavily persuaded and punished to do so.

Arthur had walked away from the ordeal with shaking hands and a smoking gun, but he wasn’t sorry, as he told Eames after they climbed back into their rental car. Eames didn’t say a word, but remembered to never push Arthur too hard from now on. 

“Okay, love,” Eames said at last. Arthur favored him with a glowing smile as his hands went back to finish removing his shirt as well as the rest of his clothes. He reached out with one hand to push Eames gently onto the bed, giving him an even better view of Arthur as he continued to strip. 

Eames had never known another man to be as graceful as Arthur was. Although his hands were trembling slightly, Eames never saw them slip. And the way his slender frame moved as he stepped out of the last of his clothing was not unlike the way a dancer would move. He too left only his underwear on, but before Eames could protest Arthur was climbing into his lap with the finesse of a giant cat. 

His hands found themselves all over Eames’ body and buried deep in his hair as he marked the forger’s skin with scorching kisses everywhere he could reach at his angle. Eames did his best to hold on while still taking advantage of as much of Arthur's writhing body as he possibly could. Large, strong hands traced the canvas of Arthur’s back and shoulders, eliciting moans from the point man as his hands dipped lower and lower until he was cupping the younger man’s firm ass through the cotton of his briefs. Eames gave him a quick squeeze which caused Arthur to let out a noise somewhat like a cross between a yelp and a gasp. He bucked against Eames which only made him gasp louder as their desire for one collided. 

Eames reacted by pulling Arthur down on top of him as he moved to lie on his back. Their lips met once again as they ground their bodies together on the bed. Eames gently rolled them over so that he was now on top. Arthur took the new position as an opportunity to wrap his legs around Eames’ hips and pull him in closer. 

As much as he regretted having to break up this new position, Eames had to extract himself from Arthur so that he could remove the last layer of clothing between them, certain that he wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer. 

“I put some lube in the nightstand,” Arthur managed through short breaths as Eames pulled his underwear down. Eames grunted a response, seemingly approval, as he stood to quickly step out of his briefs.

He pulled the drawer in the nightstand open so fast he almost upset it from its frame. The bottle of lube inside rolled around and struck the complimentary Bible. Eames quickly snatched it up and slammed the drawer back in place as he set about popping the cap open and coating his finger with the liquid inside.

Arthur, meanwhile, shimmied himself up the bed so that he was no longer lying across it, but was now sitting with his back touching the headboard. Eames tossed the bottle onto the bed next to Arthur and crawled back onto it to drape himself over his lover. 

His dry hand tangled itself in Arthur’s hair as the point man slid down the bed so that he was able to give Eames better access. Eames kissed Arthur more gently and slowly now as he positioned his fingers just outside of Arthur’s entrance. 

He waited a moment, breathing hotly against Arthur’s cheek as he waited for some signal to continue. After a second stretched into an eternity, Arthur gave a small, quick nod, and Eames slipped one finger inside. 

Arthur gasped and clenched around the coldness of the lubricant and the all too familiar feeling of having something inside of him, but he quickly relaxed. It was different this time, different even than the dreams which had required him putting aside his past to allow them both this bliss. It wasn't even a competition and for a moment Arthur almost wished he hadn't waited so long to try this again, although he also knew deep down that he would only let Eames do this. Eames worked him with just the one digit for a few moments before adding a second one. He began to slowly pump both fingers inside the younger man who was already twisting the bed sheets in his hands. 

Not before long, Arthur began to grow impatient for what started as preparation now felt like teasing as Eames dragged his fingers in and out of him. 

“Eames…nnnggg, stop that. Want you…inside of me already. God…” he gasped.

“But Arthur,” Eames chided with a wicked grin, “I am inside you. See?” he asked as he pushed his fingers deeper than before so that they were buried to the knuckle. 

Arthur twisted and writhed more as his hips jerked forward slightly. “That’s not what I meant you, ahhhh you bastard, and you know it!”

Eames planted a kiss to Arthur’s lower belly and smiled into his skin. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ll get on with it then, yeah?” he said as he removed his fingers slowly. Arthur merely nodded once and whimpered at the loss of contact. 

Eames fished around in the sheets for the lube while Arthur’s eye burned holes into his skin. He finally retrieved the bottle and quickly coated himself before tossing it back into the sea of blankets made a mess by Arthur’s undoing. 

Arthur raised up his legs to again wrap around Eames’ hips as the forger slowly pushed himself in. Arthur issued a low hiss as his eyes slipped shut tightly, but he was definitely not objecting. Eames pushed until he could go no further, but stopped to allow Arthur a chance to adjust. He would wait an eternity if need be, but it wasn't long at all before Arthur was opening his eyes so that Eames could see the complete faith he had in him before he nodded. Eames moved then, slow at first, but steadily he increased the pace as Arthur’s fingernails began to carve crescent-shaped tattoos into his shoulder blades. 

Being inside Arthur was more perfect in real life than it ever had been in the dream. He was wonderfully tight and silky, almost like velvet on the inside. Eames could feel himself getting closer and he knew Arthur must be as well judging from the intensity with which he was holding on to him and by how much louder he was growing by the minute. Later Eames would tease Arthur about being a screamer in bed. 

The point man’s body rose to meet Eames’ with a sharp slap of skin meeting skin, faster and faster as he stroked himself in time with Eames' thrusts. With a few quickened strokes, he was clenching around Eames with everything he had in him as he cried out Eames’ name and pushed his head against the pillow so hard that it’s a wonder the headboard didn’t crack. 

Having felt Arthur shudder and tighten around him, Eames finally let go and came, buried deep inside the younger man as he managed to gasp out Arthur’s name in return. He collapsed on top of him once the aftershocks finally stopped. 

He was careful to not put his entire weight on the smaller man, but Arthur didn’t seem to mind either way, being too busy caught up in post-coital bliss. 

Eames eventually rolled off of him and moved to envelope Arthur from the side. The point man molded himself to fit against him. They lay breathing heavily as Eames stroked Arthur’s hair while the younger man dropped occasional kisses to the forger’s chest and neck. 

They drifted off to sleep after muttering 'I love you' to one another, both wearing identical sleepy smiles.

oOo

Three months from that, Arthur and Eames are still happily living together and more in love than they’ve ever been. Yusuf and Ariadne announce their engagement and everyone is ecstatic for them, especially Mal who began planning a bachelorette party immediately. 

Two months after that, Cobb calls Eames about a job. He says he understands perfectly if Eames doesn't want to accept, but that he was merely curious to see where the other man stood on it and if he’d be interested, because he would always be his first choice for a forger, as would Arthur for a point man. Eames talks it over with Arthur and they agree that they’ll both come on, only Arthur will only be providing them with the research and won’t actually enter the dreamspace with them. Right after the job, Yusuf and Ariadne are wedded. 

Four months after the wedding and the job, Yusuf and Ariadne announce that they are expecting a child. Not being able to choose, they decide that both couples, Cobb and Mal and Arthur and Eames, will all be acting godparents. Everyone is ecstatic. The only downside, however, is that Ariadne can now no longer go under due to her pregnancy, so they try to make do with another architect as she joins Arthur to help with the research. 

Two months from that, no one can take the new architects anymore. Ariadne apologizes in her shy way, but no one accepts it, because her being with child is truly a joy and they don’t blame her in the slightest. Yusuf tries to formulate a compound that she might be able to use, but gives it up as a bad job because there’s no way they can be sure without testing it first. After a long talk, Arthur decides to take Ariadne’s place as architect. Eames is worried, naturally, but Arthur assures him that it'll be fine.

One month from then, it’s their anniversary again. Eames has booked the same room as last time because he knows Arthur absolutely loved it and he absolutely loves Arthur, so it's a perfect choice. Arthur has been acting a little out of sorts since entering the dream world again, but he assured everyone that it’s just because it has been so long since he’s been under. Everyone buys it and leaves him alone, but Eames keeps a close eye on him and is alert for any signs for self-destructive behavior, but finds none. He thinks their getting away for a few nights will be just what Arthur needs and he intends to make this night a very special one indeed. 

oOo

It’s the second night of their stay at the hotel and Eames waits impatiently by the elevator. He’s contemplating just taking the stairs when the bell chimes and the doors slide open.

He popped out for a few minutes to “pick up some stuff” as he told Arthur. The “stuff” happens to be a bouquet of red roses. Traditional was what Arthur preferred, after all. He hummed quietly to himself and he bounced on the balls of his feet while the elevator rose. After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator chimed again and the doors slid open once more to reveal to him their floor. 

He strutted down the hallway and took a whiff of the flowers for good measure. They smelled impeccably fresh and lively, Eames assessed happily. He made it to the door, still humming joyfully as he searched in his coat pocket for the room key. He finally retrieved it as his hand brushed a small box with a ring inside it that was burning a hole in his pocket. 

Sliding the key into the lock, Eames pushed the door hard, not caring if it hit the wall, but instead was met with a slight resistance. He pushed harder and whatever it was gave way and allowed him entrance to the room. 

His first thought was that something had gone wrong with one of their jobs; that someone had found out and had come here to kill them, for it looked as if there had been a struggle. However, Eames didn’t see any traces of blood of bullet holes, and surely the place would be crawling with cops by now if something like that had happened, so his next thought was that somehow someone had broken in and tried to steal from them, tearing the place apart in the process of hoping to find money, jewelry, or possibly even a PASIV if the person knew about their profession. 

He saw that it was a table leg that had almost prevented him from getting inside in the first place. The curtains on the windows were hanging lopsided as though someone had meant to tear them down completely but found something else to destroy and became distracted. 

Chairs were overturned and there was a hole in the TV. The mini bar was wide open and several bottles lay smashed across the carpet. A lampshade sat on one end of the room with a hole in its body as its base lay scattered in pieces on the opposite side of the room after having been thrown against the wall apparently. 

Eames wished he had his gun on him, but being that this was supposed to be a romantic occasion he had forgone bringing it with him. He set the flowers down on the small side table next to the door which was leaning forward slightly to nurse its broken leg. 

Eames crept forward as quietly as he could to find the perpetrator, if they were still around, and to find out what had happened to Arthur, praying all the while that if something had happened that Arthur had been able to get out in time or that perhaps he too had left the room and was none the wiser to what had gone down. 

His silent movements were interrupted by the sharp sound of glass cracking and then crunching beneath the toe of his shoe. Eames stepped back to see that he had shattered an already decapitated champagne glass. He saw a speck of red on the floor and immediately thought of blood. He bent down to inspect it further only to find himself suddenly cold all over. 

It wasn’t blood, it was Arthur’s red loaded die. Eames hadn’t seen it in so long, but he was positive it was Arthur’s totem alright. He picked it up gingerly and held it between his two fingers. He was inspecting in, wondering what the hell it was doing here in the first place when movement caught his eye.

Through the curtains fluttering in the wind from the open window, which Eames had failed to notice the first time, he could just barely make out a silhouette. He stood up, tucking the die inside his pocket as he moved forward. 

He approached the window and pulled back the curtain, which was doing its best to hold on to its frame. Eames felt like time stopped completely, for there was Arthur across from him, sitting on the ledge of the window opposite him. 

“Darling, what are you doing?” Eames asked, a tremor rolling through his body as he began to fear the worst. 

“Join me,” Arthur replied simply, as though he were asking Eames to accompany him on the couch or at the dinner table. 

“Just step back inside, alright? Just step back inside now, c’mon,” Eames pleaded, motioning with his hands for Arthur come back inside. He was already calculating how long it would take him to run to whichever room Arthur was in to make sure he was safe. 

“No. I’m going to jump and you’re coming with me.” He said it like it was a done deal, like they had already agreed upon this at some point. 

“No, I’m not. Now you listen to me, if you jump, you’re not going to wake up, remember, darling? You’re going to die. Now just step back inside. C’mon. Step back inside so we can talk about this,” Eames said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. 

How could this have happened again? How had he not noticed? He thought Arthur was okay. He thought this was all behind them and that while he was having trouble re-adjusting to the dream world that it was ultimately going to be okay. Now here was, threatening to jump off a building and even worse, demanding that Eames join him. 

“We’ve talked enough,” Arthur replied. Eames hadn’t noticed, but Arthur’s shoes were untied. He lifted one leg into the air and with that same dancer-like grace Eames so adored, let his shoe fall off. He watched it drop with a rapt look in his eye that made Eames’ stomach twist into an even tighter knot. 

“Arthur…” he said as evenly as he could manage.

“Come out onto the ledge or I’ll jump right now.” Eames couldn’t believe it, Arthur was treating this like a game. It was like they were kids and Arthur was daring him, no, double dog daring him to do something risky and stupid. Only now the circumstances were far more serious than those any childish game could produce. He was prepared to oblige Arthur as long as he reasonably could.

“Okay,” he said as he carefully placed one leg and then another out the window. He pulled himself through to sit on the ledge while still holding onto to the window frame for protection. “We’re going to talk about this, alright?”

“I’m asking you to take a leap of faith,” Arthur shot back. 

“No, love, I can’t… You know I can’t do that. Think for a second. Think about our friends. Think about Cobb. Think about Mal now.” Tonight had been the last night they were going to stay. They were supposed to lounge around for the day at the hotel and then at night they were going to go babysit for Cobb and Mal while they had a nice date night to themselves. Arthur, one of the most responsibility-driven people Eames knew, was willing to overlook that completely. 

“If I go without you it’s not like they’ll ever want to speak to you again anyway,” Arthur replied simply.

“What does that mean?” Eames replied, the thrill of dread overtaking him.

“I filed a letter with my attorney explaining how I’m fearful for my safety, how you threatened to kill me,” Arthur explained as though it was the most natural course of action.

Eames turned back in horror to assess the damage behind him. It had been a ruse. Arthur had done this, meticulously, to make it appear as though Eames had tried to hurt him. That if he didn't jump, the police would arrive on the scene to find the hotel room in shambles and Arthur on the pavement below and they would conclude that it had been a domestic situation gone too far out of hand to be rectified with false promises or flowers. 

“Why did you do this?” Eames asked slowly, although he already knew.

“I love you, William.”

“Why…why would you do this?” Eames repeated, his heart pulling itself apart in his chest.

“I freed you from the guilt of having to choose. We’re going home, to our real friends.” Arthur almost sounded like he was pleading now, almost as though he were begging Eames if they could have a puppy or a new speaker system for the house. 

“Oh god… Arthur, you listen to me, alright? Arthur, look at me, please,” Eames tried.

But Arthur’s eyes had slipped closed as though he were dreaming peacefully. “You’re waiting for a train…”

“Arthur, goddammit, don’t do this!” Eames yelled.

“A train that will take you far away…” Arthur continued, oblivious to Eames screaming and cursing.

“Cobb and Mallorie are waiting for us!” Eames doubted that would matter by this point, but he was desperate.

“You know you hope where this train will take you…”

“They’re waiting for us!!” Eames shouted, desperately racking his brain for anything that he could say to stop this from happening.

“But you can’t be sure…”

“Arthur, look at me!”

“But it doesn’t matter…”

“Arthur, goddammit. Listen to me!”

“Because we’ll be together…” Arthur moved as though he were about to jump when a scream tore from Eames' throat.

“Don’t think about elephants!”

Arthur caught himself just in time as his eyes flew open. He stared at Eames in confusion, waiting for him to explain. Eames, however, found himself momentarily speechless. Arthur was still there, still on the ledge. 

“Eames…I don’t… What?” 

“I said...I said don’t think about elephants,” he repeated, sounding idiotic in his own head.

“Okay…” Arthur replied, his patience wearing thinner by the second. Eames knew that at any moment he could still jump and wondered if he wouldn't just as soon follow after anyway. 

“Now what are you thinking about?” Eames gasped, trying to find his voice.

“Elephants, of course.” Arthur replied warily. 

“Exactly. Arthur you…you know what inception is. I know you know.”

“Yes…” Arthur trailed off. Eames was at least glad to see some of the impatience fall from his face at the mention inception.

“And…and you know how hard it can be, right?” Eames questioned, his voice shaking. 

“Of course,” Arthur replied curtly.

“But it can be done. You know that and I know that. And…you know what a bitch Limbo is, yeah? I mean, you of all people know what hell that place is.” 

“Yes, Eames, but what does that have to do with any of this?”

“I did it.”

“You did what, Eames?”

“Inception. I did it to you. It was Cobb’s idea. We got you into Limbo, let you get lost, and then I performed inception on you to get you out. Only I didn’t know that the idea I was planting in your mind would continue to torment you once you woke up. That idea, that one simple idea, that this world wasn’t real had you, and clearly still has you, convinced that this world isn’t real and that in order to wake up, we need to kill ourselves.”

Eames broke off to take in Arthur’s expression, or lack thereof. Arthur stared back at Eames blankly. He felt several emotions coursing through him at the moment, but he couldn’t make just one stand out among them.

“You betrayed me…” he said slowly. “You infected my mind?” A tear slipped out and rolled down his cheek. 

“Yes. God, Arthur, I am so sorry. I had no idea. Neither did Cobb. We thought it would be fairly simple, well, apart from actually performing a successful inception job, but we had no idea how much of a parasite that idea would become.” Eames took a shuddering breath, pushing himself to go on,“But I knew once we woke up that something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but it soon became clear that you were possessed by this radical notion and there was nothing I could do or say that could make you change your mind. No matter how much I begged or pleaded, you refused to see reason. Do you remember all those times we went to therapists and every one of them declared you sane? That made it even harder for me to convince you otherwise, so I just hoped that with enough time and protection that you’d eventually come around. And you did. For a while anyway… I knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to let you go back into that world, but I really thought you were past that. Arthur… I can’t apologize enough and I understand if, if you hate me now and I’ll go if you want me to, but you have to come back inside first, okay? Please just come back inside.”

Eames thought for a terrible moment that Arthur was going to fling himself off the edge anyway, but instead the point man swung one leg and then the other back into the room and his body followed. He stood in the room for a minute, a bit shell-shocked, but then eventually he made his way over to the door. It was hard to tell, but Eames thought Arthur looked back at him before stepping out into the hall. 

Eames waited for what felt like years before he heard the sounds of Arthur's key activating the magnetic lock. He stood by the window, unsure what to do with himself and not knowing whether he should prepare himself for a blow or an embrace. 

Arthur stood on the opposite side of the room, seeming to contemplate just exactly what he wanted to do as well. He took a few quick strides and was in front of Eames before the other man could even move to dodge any possible hits, but Arthur didn’t raise his fists. Instead, he flung his arms around the forger’s neck and buried his face in his chest as he let out a tremendous sob. 

Eames stood dumbstruck for a second before his arms moved to wrap around the younger man who was trembling all over and crying like it was the end of the world, which was understandable seeing as how for both of them it almost had been. 

They stayed like that, Eames stroking Arthur’s hair gently as the point man sobbed and sobbed into his shirt until he got his breathing under control and the tears began to slow. Eames wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, only that at some point they had moved to the floor, Arthur now cradled in his lap as he hiccuped through the last few tears, Eames doing his best to whisper reassurances in his ear the whole time. 

“It’s alright, darling. You’re still here, I’ve got you. It’s gonna be alright now. Shhhh.”

Arthur eventually quieted down completely to the point where Eames thought he’d fallen asleep. He was surprised, then, when Arthur raised his head, his puffy, red-rimmed eyes meeting Eames own which had been steadily leaking tears the entire time. 

“I am…furious over this whole ordeal. And I’m probably going to be mad for a while. But as much as I want to walk out of here and leave your sorry ass behind to reflect on what you’ve done, I realize that I can’t do that. Eames, part of me wants to think that us getting together was some sort of sick way to pull me into that experiment and that the only reason you stayed shortly after was because you felt guilty, but I know you and I know that by now, especially after I had gotten better, that you shouldn’t still be here if that was the case. I realize what that means, as much as part of me hates to admit it, that you do truly care about me and I believe you when you say you had no idea how bad it would get. I believe your intentions were pure. As stupid and misguided as they were.” 

Eames chuckled deeply as he favored Arthur with a kiss on the forehead.

“And I also realize that you saved me. Again. And that you did tell me the truth. I'm still pissed that it took you so long, but we’ll get through that. We’ll get through that because I love you and I know you love me and I’m not going to give this up because of what happened. I want you to work with me so that we can put this past us, okay?” Arthur asked quietly. 

“Absolutely, darling. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. I’ll spend the rest of my days making this up to you, I promise,” Eames assured. 

“Okay. I’m sorry I put you through this. I know it’s your fault, technically, but I also know you didn’t bargain for having a suicidal boyfriend either.”

“It’s alright, love,” Eames murmured against the top of Arthur’s head. “ ‘M just glad you’re still here. God,” choked out, “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you…” More tears began to fall down his face as he pictured a scenario in which he hadn’t said the apparent right thing and Arthur had actually jumped. Picturing Arthur like that, having fallen so far to the ground where he would lay, broken and lifeless, perhaps with an expression on his beautiful face that naively assumed that he was returning to his real life, would have killed Eames. He knew in that moment, with no ambiguity, that he would have followed after, that he would always follow Arthur for that's where his heart lived now. And it’s not as though they had any children left behind to worry about, so he really would have been free. 

Which reminded him…

“Arthur?” Eames asked quietly, making sure the point man hadn’t drifted off to sleep while he had pondered the awful outcome of what very well could have been.

“Mmm?” Arthur responded sleepily. 

“We’re going to have to give that attorney of yours a call tomorrow.”

“I’ll do it first thing in the morning,” Arthur replied, just above a whisper. 

“Alright, darling. Let’s get you to bed.” Eames scooped Arthur up into his arms and carried him back to the bedroom as though he were a bride. 

He pulled back the covers with one hand, which was easy given that they were already halfway torn off the bed, and gently lowered the younger man into the bed. Arthur tried to help with the sheets, but Eames batted his hands away. “Go to sleep, Mr. Callahan,” He teased. Arthur attempted to shoot him a dirty look, but couldn’t quite manage it given his state of tiredness and instead settled back into the sheets and closed his eyes.

Once Arthur was tucked inside, Eames went to close the window. He took one look down at the street below and a violent shudder passed through him. He pulled himself away to close and lock the window back in place before making his way back to the bed. He gingerly pulled back the covers on the opposite side to slide in next to Arthur who had already fallen asleep judging from his deep and even breaths. 

Eames skimmed his fingers through Arthur’s hair one last time and planted a light kiss on his lips before succumbing to sleep as well. 

oOo

Another year followed the hotel incident and Eames and Arthur celebrated their anniversary once more in a much more relaxed way by staying at home and watching movies over a home cooked meal. It took a long time for them to get past what happened that night, as well as the events that led up to it, but they remained steadfast in their commitment to each other and determined to make things work. Once things were back to normal with them, Eames arranged a romantic evening for the two of them. He took Arthur to an opera that he’d been eyeing in the paper for weeks now, but would never admit out loud to wanting to see and afterwards treated him to some of the city’s finest wining and dining available. 

After dinner, Eames took Arthur back to the warehouse where they’d had their first job together. Arthur had begun teasing Eames on how romantic and charming it was to take your date to an old, empty warehouse when he noticed that the forger had sunk to one knee. 

The ring, which had continued to burn a hole in his pocket since that fateful night, finally made its debut and was received warmly by its new owner. 

They made love on a mattress that Eames had bought a week before specifically for this occasion. As they lay side by side and facing one another afterwards, Eames could tell that this was going to be a new beginning for them. There were still a million ways in which he wanted to make up for the past, to somehow telepathically communicate how sorry he still was, and always would be, but it wasn't necessary. Lying there with Arthur, he pictured them both as two angels rising up into the night, high enough so that the echoes of the past could never find them as they disappeared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's a wrap! Again, this has not been my best work by any means, but hopefully there was still something worthwhile in there. If you read this far I can't thank you enough. Thank you. <3


End file.
